


Another Place

by JenTheSweetie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, First Time, Gen, M/M, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 01:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21007703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenTheSweetie/pseuds/JenTheSweetie
Summary: Tony’s a smart guy, and he’s pretty sure he knows how the story ends.Tony survives the battle with Thanos, deals with fallout, and might be kinda, sorta dating Steve Rogers.





	Another Place

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Snapjack for being a fabulous writing partner, and thank you to all of YOU for reading!

Tony’s a smart guy, and he’s pretty sure he knows how the story ends.

_One_, Strange mouths, and it’s almost a relief, because finally Tony can admit that he’s always known what’s coming. He’s always known, ever since Strange handed over the stone on that godforsaken planet in the middle of Bumfuck, Outer Space - before that, actually, ever since that vision from Wanda, ever since he stared into the blackness of space through the hole in the sky and realized they weren’t alone. 

Maybe even earlier, if he’s honest with himself, which he isn’t, usually. 

He’d fought it for so long. He’d tried to bargain with the universe, tried to change it, but when it came down to it he knew. He _knew_ he was going to have to - 

And that’s when Captain Marvel slams into him, grabs the stones right off his gauntlet, and snaps her fingers.

-

Things happen really fast for a while.

People want to go home to their families, and go out and celebrate, and think about anything else for a while because finally, _finally_, they can. 

Tony goes home too, and holds Morgan tight, and he thinks that probably, underneath it all, what he’s feeling is _happy_. He’s sure he’ll recognize it eventually.

-

“I could go with you,” Tony says.

“We’ve talked about this,” Steve says. “Two of us will draw attention.”

The stones sit in their case in the center of Tony’s kitchen table, and nobody seems to want to look at them. Bruce keeps his eyes down, his arm held protectively against his chest; Rhodey kicks his feet up on the table; Thor stands in the corner, looking out the window.

Tony shifts, crosses his legs. “Yeah, but if you get into something sticky - ”

“Then I’ll hit restart and try again,” Steve says. “We know where the pain points are, we’ve done it once already. Why do you want to come so badly?”

Tony doesn’t know why he wants to go so badly. All he knows is that he needs to do _something_ or he’ll vibrate out of his skin. He twists his hands together behind his back and says, “Just trying to keep busy, I guess.”

Steve snorts. “You’re plenty busy.”

“He’s getting antsy now that the world doesn’t need saving,” Rhodey says, rolling his eyes.

“Well, give it a rest. You’ve done enough, Tony,” Steve says, and it’s the biggest load of bullshit he’s ever heard but Tony doesn’t bother to call him on it.

-

He’ll run the machine, anyway.

Not that he doesn’t trust the others, of course he trusts them, he just wants to be there. It’s important, returning all the stones to their precise locations in time to snuff out any alternate timelines they may have created by snatching them away. If something goes wrong - well, he’d be there, and he’d fix it. Tony always fixes things. 

Steve’s already waiting when he gets there, Wilson and Barnes hovering behind him. It’s a little melodramatic, Tony thinks, coming to see him off when he’ll only be gone five seconds on their end. 

Assuming things go right, at least.

“There’s no rush, really,” Tony says as Steve snaps shut the suitcase full of the most powerful items in the universe, picks up Thor’s hammer (_Thor’s hammer_, god, Tony’ll never get over that) and steps onto the platform. “We can always do it another day. Another year, even. The past will keep.”

“I’d rather not keep these around any longer than we need to.”

“Why, fingers getting itchy?” Tony said, watching as the energy sensor on the time machine approaches 100%.

“Something like that,” Steve says. “Ready?”

“See you in a minute,” Tony says, and Steve’s gone. “All right, return in five, four, three, two - ”

And - 

Steve’s back on the platform, empty-handed. 

“How’d it go?” Tony says.

Steve shrugs. “Not bad. Only took a couple days. Oh, and I went to that great Chinese place in Greenwich Village that closed in 2014.”

“Son of a bitch,” Sam says, and Barnes throws up his hands, and Tony laughs harder than he should and he can’t put his finger on why. 

-

They decide pretty quickly not to rebuild the base.

The destruction is complete, and removing the rubble will be a months-long job, but more than that nobody really wants to look at it ever again. Tony tells people it’s because of how it all went down there, but they all know that really, it’s because in the end, it was Natasha’s. She kept the place going when the rest of them couldn’t take it; she ran missions out of the command center when everybody else gave up; she called it home when the rest of them walked away. 

They set up in the Tower instead, turn all the lights back on and dust off the old equipment. Most of it has been empty save for a few floors that housed the energy projects and the Maria Stark Foundation, and opening it up again feels like acknowledging that things are different all over again.

Tony’s surprised that it feels that big, that _important_, as he steps out onto the landing pad for the first time in years. From inside the penthouse, he can hear Morgan running around, exploring the oversized closets and the furniture she’s never seen, asking Friday a million questions and giggling at the replies. 

Pepper steps up next to him, slips her hand into his. “I don’t want to move back.”

“We’re not moving back,” Tony says. “It’s for the team.”

“And you’re part of the team again,” Pepper says, and it’s not a question.

“The team is,” Tony says, and pauses. “The team is the team. We’re not moving back, okay?”

“Okay,” Pepper says.

-

It’s fine with Tony, really.

Pennsylvania’s quiet - still quiet, even with the other half the world back in the picture. Pepper doesn’t want Morgan to grow up in the city. It just wasn’t the life they’d pictured for themselves, when they’d shut down most of the company and moved away. 

But really, it’s fine. Tony can fly, after all. He can duck out for a few hours a couple times a week, make sure the team’s settling into the tower, check in on Peter’s suits, shoot the shit with Bruce in the lab. Pepper won’t even notice he’s gone.

-

He goes to Bleecker Street once, makes it all the way to Strange’s block, considers walking up and knocking on the door and asking the question he doesn’t want to know the answer to - _Is this it? Is this the _one_? _\- but in the end he just shoves his hands in his pockets and keeps walking.

\- 

They’re celebrated as heroes, spend months turning down parades, but eventually - just like Tony knew they would - the questions start.

They brought everybody home, sure, but - well, but some people came home to spouses who had remarried, and kids who had grown up, and homes in neighborhoods that had been abandoned. The economy booms, but it leaves plenty of people behind. There are too many lives that can’t be put back together again, Humpty-Dumpty style, and even though nobody knows for sure how they did it, everyone wonders: did you have to do it _this_ way? 

Peter asks, once, when they’re in the workshop, and Tony’s teaching him how to reprogram Karen because really, he should have taught the kid this a long time ago, and they’re both looking at the screen - well, Peter’s looking at the screen but Tony’s looking at Peter, because he always wants to have his eyes on Peter these days - when Peter says, apropos of nothing, “It was pretty bad around here, wasn’t it?”

Tony taps his fingers on the table. “When - you were gone, you mean?”

“Yeah,” Peter says. He glances at Tony, and then back down. “It’s just - it seems like it was tough, probably.”

“It was,” Tony says, because there’s really no way _not_ to understate it.

“It’s too bad,” Peter says, “you know, that the stones couldn’t just - take us all back five years. To right when it happened, so it didn’t have to be so hard for all the people who were still here, you know?”

Tony’s mouth is dry. “Yeah,” he says, and Peter turns back to the screen, content in a way that Tony will never be that everyone had done everything they could. 

-

They all lie through their teeth to SHIELD and Congress and the WSC about how they did it, lock away the quantum machine and make up some story that Carol says pretty much checks out, if you don’t know too much about space and the causal nature of reality. 

Tony has a feeling that Nick Fury doesn’t buy it for a second.

That’s fine with Tony. He has other things to worry about. The task of putting the world back together is too big for him to wrap his arms around, so instead he hires back all of his employees, every single one of them. He doubles his energy output overnight. He starts work on another factory just to give everybody something to do. 

The shareholders go crazy; Tony’s glad Pepper isn’t the CEO anymore, because she’d have throttled him for it. These days, she runs the Maria Stark Foundation with the same efficiency with which she operated Stark Industries, and they stop talking about work, mostly, because it keeps the fights to a minimum. 

There are protests now, food shortages, ugly custody battles and divorce cases, and Tony wonders when the fingers will start to point. The paparazzi who wait outside Stark Tower every day have already stopped yelling thank yous and started asking questions. _How’d you do it, Tony_? he hears through the driver’s side window as he drives them away from the tower, back to the house in Pennsylvania. _Tell us, why’d you - _

“Vultures,” Pepper murmurs.

“What did you say, Mommy?” Morgan asks from the backseat.

“Nothing, honey,” Pepper says, gazing out the window. “Just tired of all the cameras. Glad to be going home.”

Tony smiles at Morgan in the rearview mirror. “It’s you, kiddo. You’re so pretty, they can’t help taking pictures.”

“Tony,” Pepper says, and Tony just keeps his smile frozen in place.

-

Tony gets push notifications about the geopolitical instability caused by presidents and ministers and kings who think they’re still in charge when the reappeared after five years, but he leaves the politics to T’Challa, doesn’t pay much attention until his phone rings late one night.

“We’re getting word of some kind of robotic militia in Sokovia,” Bruce says. He sounds apologetic. “Wanda’s already there, she says it’s getting ugly. You don’t have to come, we can probably - but I thought, with Thor back in space, we’d ask if - ”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “And it’s robots, so - ”

“Right,” Bruce says. “Anyway, we’re leaving in an hour from the tower. No pressure.”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. Downstairs, he can hear the dishwasher running. “Give me forty-five minutes.”

He scribbles a quick note - _Duty calls. Back soon_ \- and presses a kiss to Pepper’s temple, then Morgan’s, shuts the screen door quietly behind him and flies away.

The insurrection in Sokovia isn’t particularly organized, but it’s still a decent fight; the armored soldiers are way overpowered, blowing up buildings left and right, and Tony wonders what kind of Justin Hammer-impersonating asshole is responsible this time. By the time Cap and Wanda corner the leaders in an abandoned subway station, several city blocks are rubble. 

Like always, they still count it a win. 

They leave the captured soldiers with what remains of the Sokovian authorities and take off in the jet over a lake glittering incongruously in the early morning sunlight. Wilson and Bruce talk quietly in the cockpit and Wanda spreads out across a couple of seats to catch a nap. Tony fiddles with his wedding ring, spins it around his finger over and over and counts down the minutes.

“Thanks for coming,” Steve says, and Tony looks around as Cap lowers himself into the next seat over.

“Sure,” Tony says. “Not like I was doing anything else at 2 in the morning.”

Steve leans back in his seat. “I thought maybe we’d be able to dissolve the team,” he says. “But it looks like - ”

“It looks like probably not,” Tony finishes.

“You don’t have to be involved,” Steve says. 

Tony snorts. “Right.”

“We left you alone before.”

“Until you didn’t,” Tony says.

Steve pulls back like Tony slapped him. “We were trying to - ”

“Hey, hey, I know,” Tony says, holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean - sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. If I want out, I’m out. Nobody’s keeping me here.”

Steve nods, pacified. Beneath them, the jet hums. Finally, he says, “You’ve never really wanted out, though.”

It’s not a question, really, so Tony doesn’t bother answering.

-

They chase the sun all the way home.

Tony steps out of the armor in the garage and dawdles, notes the repairs he’ll have to do, tinkers with the chest plate for a while. Eventually exhaustion wins out and he walks in through the back door. Morgan’s listening to music in the living room, and he pauses on the steps for a minute, listens as she sings all the wrong words. He smells coffee from the kitchen and considers it, but crawls into bed instead, Morgand’s clear voice carrying from the floor below.

He wakes up to early afternoon light and Pepper hanging clothes in the closet.

“Hey,” he says.

She doesn’t look at him. “How many retirements is that now?”

Tony rolls away, stares at the ceiling. “They needed me.”

“I saw it on the news,” Pepper says. “They could have handled it.”

“They - ”

“Don’t keep saying they needed you, Tony,” she says. He hears the quiet sound of a drawer opening and closing. 

“We made this mess,” Tony says. “We have to keep fixing it. They - ”

“_We_ need you,” Pepper says, and he wishes she was angry at him, but she just sounds disappointed. “We always need you.”

And the worst part of it all is that he knows he should feel worse about it than he does.

-

The tower starts to fill up again. It’s Tony’s employees, mostly, R&D and government affairs and a fully-staffed marketing department that hasn’t had a consumer product to market in going on six years, but the top ten floors hum with life too, because the Avengers are back.

Bruce moves into the suite on 101, next to his lab, where he is definitely_ not_ experimenting with the Quantum time machine, because they destroyed it, it never existed, whatever your particular clearance level indicates, etc. Wanda takes 102, and Wilson moves into her guest room. One weekend Tony visits and finds that Steve has re-done the gym with the kind of supersoldier-tolerant weights they had back at the base, even though he’s still living in Brooklyn in what Tony can only assume is a sad, asbestos-ridden bachelor pad. 

Tony has no idea where Barnes lives. He doesn’t ask, and nobody tells him. 

Steve puts them all on a grouptext, which Tony finds hilarious, and before long they start having team meetings. They just eat pizza and talk, mostly, find their footing with each other again, figure out how to work together after everything that’s happened and everything that hasn’t. T’Challa holos in from Wakanda, and somebody sets up their phone with Scott on FaceTime, and Nebula and Rocket and Thor check in from space sometimes, and every once in a while Carol drops by, all blonde and alien and larger than life, and drinks them all under the table. Tony knows that Steve only has meetings because Natasha used to, that he probably wouldn’t be doing it at all if Natasha was still alive, but nobody calls him on it, and Tony thinks that she would probably like it that way.

Peter somehow maintains his secret identity long enough to get into Columbia (which is fine with Tony; he didn’t have his heart set on MIT for the kid or anything). Tony throws him a graduation party at the Tower and invites the team and Aunt May and Peter’s best friend Ned, who stands between Steve and Bruce looking like he’s died and gone to heaven and it’s even better than he expected. Happy shows up with one of those big head posters, and when Pepper and Morgan leave early so Morgan can sleep in her own bed, Peter gives Morgan a goodbye high five that Tony quietly asks Friday to save to the permanent drive.

“So do you wish you were off getting trashed on wine coolers with the rest of your classmates?” Tony says as Peter polishes off yet another slice of cake.

“Mostly I’m just bummed I can’t post any of these videos on Instagram,” Peter says. “The one of Bruce giving Ned a piggyback ride is pretty incredible.”

“You ever think of giving up the whole secret identity thing?” Tony asks. “It’d certainly enrich your social media presence.”

Peter shrugs, leans against the countertop. “I kind of like keeping my options open.”

“Not sure the superhero thing is for you?” 

“Oh, no, I’m pretty sure I’m stuck with you guys,” Peter says. “It’s just - well, it’s not always easy, right? Being this, but also - normal.”

Tony wonders when Peter got so old and mature and _thoughtful_. He’s not sure he likes it. “Well, you know. You can make it work. If you want.”

“Like you and Ms. Potts,” Peter says.

Tony thinks of the bed in the penthouse that he sleeps in more and more these days, when he stays in the city late or has early meetings or, well, just because, and he smiles bracingly at Peter. “Sure.”

“Right,” Peter says, sounding satisfied. “You want some more cake?”

“I’m good,” Tony says, and watches as Peter slides in between Ned and Wilson at the food table.

“He seems like a good kid.”

Tony shoves his hands in his pockets as Steve steps up next to him. “Yeah, he is. He’s a great kid, actually.”

“You gonna ask him to join the team officially when he turns eighteen?”

“I asked him once, he said no,” Tony says. “But I think he’ll change his mind. Maybe you could pitch it to him, kids always love you, what kid can say no to Captain America?”

“I think you’ll have better luck,” Steve says. “He looks up to you.”

“Some days, maybe,” Tony says.

“Most days, I think,” Steve says. “After Germany, Nat said you were training a sidekick, but what you actually wanted was a protege. Seems like she was right.”

Tony glances at him, then looks back at the party. “She usually was.”

“That’s for sure.” 

“You miss her.”

“Every day,” Steve says. He smiles, just a little bit, that smile he puts on when he’s thinking about something he can’t do anything about. “She always kept us going. No matter what.”

“You’re doing a pretty good job of keeping things going yourself.”

Steve shrugs. “I always thought I did okay until she took over. She - she _belonged_ with the team, you know? Not like me.”

“She was good, I’ll give you that,” Tony says. “But you belong with the team too.”

“Sometimes,” Steve says. “Sometimes, maybe not.”

“I mean,” Tony says, “do you belong anywhere else?”

Steve looks at him sharply, like he thinks Tony’s giving him a hard time, and Tony watches him carefully until Steve relaxes. “No. No, not really.”

“Like I said,” Tony says, and turns back to the party.

-

Tony’s in a meeting with NASA when his phone goes crazy.

“That was supposed to be on silent,” Tony says, sliding it out of his pocket as Fury glares daggers at him across the table, “so I’ll just - ”

_Captain America attacked_ shines up at him, and he stands up so quickly his chair squeaks.

“Stark?” Fury says.

“I have to take this,” Tony says, swiping through notifications as they pile up and walking blindly out of the room. “Friday, situation?”

“There’s video on Twitter,” Friday says. “I’m not sure of the source, but - ”

“Show me,” Tony says.

It autoplays on silent, slightly shaky the way these things always are. Steve’s in civilian clothes on a sidewalk in Brooklyn, and he’s surrounded by people. No, not people, Tony realizes, a _mob_, a crowd of protestors, the kind of protestors who have started to think that all the cards in the post-Blip world are stacked against them. 

The mob looks pissed, and Steve looks tense, but he’s replying to them calmly even as the crowd grows more agitated and then - Tony flinches - and then somebody takes a swing, hits him right in the jaw and falls back rubbing their fist, but then somebody else swipes at him, and another, and somebody has a baseball bat, and the video shakes wildly and then goes black. 

“Where is this,” Tony says.

“Brooklyn,” Friday says, “but it was taken 45 minutes ago, the story just broke, it’s all over now, boss - ”

“Track whoever took this video, and see if there are more,” Tony says. “Where is he?”

“New York Presbyterian,” Friday says. “Sergeant Wilson is with him.”

“Call him,” Tony says, and presses the phone to his ear. “Come on, Wilson, pick up the fucking - ”

“Hello?”

“How is he?” Tony says.

“Captain Rogers doesn’t have any comment for the press at this time,” Wilson says, sounding tired.

“Sam,” Tony says, like they’re friends even though they’re not. “Come on.”

“He’s fine,” Sam says. “He’s fallen out of buildings, he can take a few swings. They’re patching him up right now.”

“There’s a video,” Tony says. “It looks like - ”

“Like he didn’t fight back?” Sam says. “Of course he didn’t. They were civilians.”

“So what? They attacked him in the _street_ \- ”

“After he went up to talk to them,” Sam says. “Tried to talk them down. When he wakes up he’ll probably say it’s his own damn fault.”

“Are you _serious_?” Tony snaps. “He just _let_ them - ”

“Look, I’m not happy about it either, all right? Jesus. Come yell at him yourself if you wanna yell that bad.”

“You know what, I might do that,” Tony says.

When he pulls up to the hospital it’s crawling with press, so he double parks on a side street and flies in, startles some security guy when he lands on the helipad and takes the stairs two at a time.

The hallway outside Steve’s room is quiet, and suspiciously empty - or not so suspiciously, actually, Tony thinks, not once you realize the surly figure slouched in a folding chair outside room 1408 is the Winter Soldier. Tony considers his options, glances at his watch, and then walks straight up to the guy and says, “How’s he doing?”

Barnes looks up, and Tony’ll be damned but he looks _surprised_. “Not taking visitors,” he says.

“Right,” Tony says, and reaches for the door.

Barnes’s hand shoots up, the metal one, like he wants to grab Tony but - wisely - changes his mind. “He’s sleeping,” he says, like it costs him something to admit it. “He heals better when he’s asleep. Let him be.”

Tony looks at his watch again. “Do you know what happened?”

“I saw it on the news like everybody else,” Barnes says. He keeps looking around furtively, like he expects somebody to jump out from behind the nurse’s station. 

“The video looks,” Tony says, and purses his lips. “Ugly.”

Barnes snorts. “You can say that again.”

“Why the hell did he - ”

“I think he thought he could reason with them. Most people are happy about what you guys did, but not everybody, you know?”

“I’ve heard,” Tony mutters. “But why - ”

“Because he thinks he’s responsible for fucking _everything_,” Barnes says irritably. “Always has. It’s gonna get him killed one of these days.”

“It already did, once,” Tony says. 

For the first time, Barnes looks up and meets Tony’s eyes, and it takes Tony a second to recognize it but he looks - he looks like he’s in pain. “Right. I - forget that, sometimes.”

The last of the boiling hot anger at Barnes, the rage that burned bright in Siberia and cooled considerably over the better part of a decade, goes suddenly dark in the pit of Tony’s stomach. He looks around the hallway and gives in. “I’m just gonna - yeah, I’m gonna sit. Is that weird, if I sit here?”

“No,” Barnes says. “I mean, kind of, but - ”

“Yeah, I know,” Tony says, and collapses into the chair across the hallway. 

Barnes watches him. “You know,” he says, “lotta things change in five years, I get that. But you two being friends again? I wouldn’t have put money on that one.”

“Well, life’s full of surprises,” Tony says.

“Tell me about it,” Barnes says, and they settle into silence, punctuated only by the beeping of Steve’s heart monitor in the room.

Time passes. Tony updates the rest of the team, leaves a message for Pepper, gets a coffee. Sam comes by, then leaves again. Barnes doesn’t move from his seat. Finally - 

“He’s awake,” Barnes says, standing up quickly. Tony doesn’t bother asking how he knows - fucking supersoldier hearing, probably - and follows him into the room.

“Buck?” Steve says, sounding groggy, and Tony freezes, grabs the door before it swings shut and turns on his heel. 

“Hey, idiot,” Barnes says, and Tony’s already gone.

-

He goes directly to the landing pad, plugs in the coordinates and doesn’t look up from his holopad during takeoff. Pepper texts him twice while he’s over the Atlantic, and he forgets to respond.

It’s hard to get an audience with the King of Wakanda, but luckily for Tony he’s _Tony Stark_, so he eats a sumptuous breakfast in the palace ballroom and then hangs out in a conference room for twenty minutes before T’Challa shows up. “Sorry to drop in unannounced,” Tony says, because his mother raised him to be polite to royalty. “There’s a situation.”

“I heard,” T’Challa says. “Captain Rogers is all right?”

“He’s fine,” Tony says. “But I need something from you.”

T’Challa raises an eyebrow. “Somehow I don’t think I’m going to enjoy this conversation.”

-

T’Challa doesn’t enjoy the conversation at _all_, but that’s fine with Tony because he leaves with more vibranium than has legally departed the country in years. He finishes his designs halfway home, grabs a catnap in the pilot’s seat, and when he gets back to the tower he pulls on his welding mask and gets to work. Bruce checks in around what must be some meal time - Tony only knows that because he brings a sandwich that he eats half of and leaves the rest for Tony to throw away hours later - and looks over Tony’s shoulder curiously until he gets it. “Wow,” he says, unhelpfully, and then he claps Tony on the shoulder and leaves him to it. Vibranium is an unusual metal but it’s pliable, interesting but not too hard to work with assuming you’re a genius, and it only takes Tony a few hours before he’s satisfied. He tucks the finished product into a nondescript bag and drives across the East River, follows Friday’s directions to Steve’s equally nondescript building in Brooklyn Heights and buzzes the front door.

“Hello?” Barnes’s voice comes through the intercom.

“Pizza delivery for the Star Spangled Man with a Plan,” Tony says.

“We don’t want any,” Sam calls out from a distance, but the front door buzzes open.

Tony takes the stairs to buy himself some time - he didn’t think about what he was going to say, and he definitely didn’t expect to do this with an audience, but he should’ve figured Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum would be here, pecking like mother hens over their precious Cap. 

Sam opens the door and waves him inside wordlessly. “Glad I didn’t actually bring pizza,” Tony says, gesturing to the greasy boxes on the countertop. 

“We could always use more,” Steve says from the couch. 

Tony takes a good look at him. This time yesterday - or was it the day before? - he was getting pounded into mincemeat. Today his bruises are going green and yellow, and the skin all around his eye is bright red, freshly scarred. “Well, at least the ugly won’t last.”

Steve snorts. “Gotta look on the bright side.”

“Seriously, you look like shit.”

“I feel fine, thanks for asking,” Steve says dryly. “Did you come to give me a hard time? Because these two have it covered.”

“I’m sure they do,” Tony says. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“A lot of things,” Steve says. 

“Well, believe me, I’m the expert in riding out bad press, and getting yourself beat up by a bunch of maniacs? It’s not going to win you any sympathy.”

“Good thing that’s not why I did it,” Steve says, and when he catches Tony’s gaze he holds it until Tony looks away.

Barnes clears his throat. “What’s in the bag?”

“Oh,” Tony says. “It’s nothing, really.” 

He unzips the bag and pulls it out, star-side up.

Steve’s eyes widen. “Is that - ”

“Yup,” Tony says, holding out the shield. “I used my dad’s original specs. Let me know if the weight doesn’t seem right, or if the edges are off, I can always - ”

“Tony,” Steve says, his voice uneven, but when he takes the shield his hands are steady. “It’s - you didn’t have to do this.”

“Oh, I know,” Tony says. “But I thought - well, without the shield, you’re - you deserve it, all right? And they should know that. Everybody should.”

Steve pulls the straps of the shield around his wrist, runs a finger around the edge. “Thank you,” he says, looking up at Tony. 

“Don’t mention it,” Tony says. “I mean seriously, don’t. I didn’t pay import taxes on the vibranium, I’m not a billionaire anymore, this could sink me.”

Steve laughs, and it doesn’t make anything better, really, Tony thinks as Sam offers him pizza and Barnes grabs him a beer, but it doesn’t hurt, either.

-

Three weeks after they nearly kill Captain America in a fit of mob violence, the Returned, as they’re calling themselves these days, hold a rally in DC.

“You shouldn’t go,” Pepper says over breakfast.

“Worried about the bad PR?” Tony says nastily. 

Pepper doesn’t rise to the bait, which irritates Tony even more. “Being there isn’t going to help anything.”

“What we did, Pep? It didn’t come free. I can’t stand by and let them denigrate everything we worked to save, everything we lost saving it.”

“They’re angry, Tony,” she says. “They’re angry and hurting and it’s already gotten ugly. The best thing we can do is keep doing what we’re doing - the Foundation, and the jobs, and - ”

“It’s a flyover,” Tony interrupts. “That’s it. Cap’s gonna be on the ground, if he needs backup I’ll be there and if he doesn’t, they won’t even see me.”

Pepper takes a long, slow sip of coffee. “Is it helping?”

“Is what helping?” 

“Getting involved in all of it,” she says. “Is it helping the guilt?”

Tony’s skin goes hot. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Pepper reaches out, puts her hand on his. “We have to move forward, Tony. I know you feel guilty it happened in the first place, but if you feel guilty about the way you chose to fix it, too, you’ll never move past it, you’ll never - ”

“I don’t feel guilty,” Tony says. “I don’t - I didn’t - ”

“So you don’t ever regret it?” 

Tony pulls back. “Jesus Christ. You too? You think I should have done it differently? You’re on their side?”

Pepper narrows his eyes. “Of course not. How could you _possibly_ think I’d be on their side - ”

“Because it sounds like you’re accusing me of - ”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, if you’d listen to me for once in your _life _\- ”

“Are you fighting again?”

They both whip around as Morgan stands in the doorway, frowning underneath her bedhead.

“No, sweetie,” Pepper says. “Mommy and Daddy are just talking.”

“It sounded like fighting.”

“We don’t fight, kiddo,” Tony says, holding his arms open. She runs into them and buries her face in his chest, right where the arc reactor used to be. “We never fight.”

-

It’s a lie, of course, and over the next couple of months Tony does pretty much nothing but prove it.

-

Pepper puts out the most incredible press release the day Tony officially moves back into the penthouse.

Not that Tony’s surprised. She always was the PR whiz, way better than Tony, who can’t spin his way out of a paper basket and doesn’t usually bother to try. The most amazing thing about it is that every word of it is true: _they love each other, they’ll always be a family, they’re taking some time apart, they would appreciate privacy during this difficult time. _

It’s just so _pedestrian_, Tony thinks. He always thought his marriage - when he’d imagined having one, which he mostly didn’t - would fall apart because of something dramatic, something spectacular, something _special_. Not just your regular, run-of-the-mill, marriage is hard _bullshit_. 

Not that this is easier than marriage, though. Leaving Morgan half the time, waving to Pepper from the car while Morgan runs down the front steps with her My Little Pony backpack, keeping the smile on his face until she’s out of sight when Happy drives away with her again a few days later - no, it’s not easy. Tony made the first Iron Man suit in a cave with a box of scraps, Tony fought aliens and robots and gods, Tony _invented time travel_, but this - this isn’t easy at all.

__

“You doing okay, boss?” Happy asks once, when he comes back from another drop-off and the penthouse feels cavernous.

“Sure,” Tony says, and he’s fine, really. He thinks about how somewhere out there in the multiverse there’s probably a version of them quietly living out their lives in the cabin Pennsylvania. It’s not _this_ universe, not anymore, but - well, it’s comforting anyway, somehow.

-

The first team meeting after Tony moves back in is a little awkward.

Rhodey’s been crashing at the penthouse for a few days, and he’s been making noise about taking Tony on vacation, Cabo or Monaco or Vegas (“They do divorce parties these days, you know, like a bachelor party but in reverse”). Tony ignores him, mostly, works all night and mainlines coffee and watches the little heat signature that belongs to Morgan run around the backyard in Pennsylvania. He probably would have missed the meeting if Bruce hadn’t come down to drag him out, literally, which Bruce can actually pull off these days, the big green meanie.

Tony dozes off during official business - something about an industrial magnate in Argentina who’s making noise about setting up his own ambassadorship in space, sounds like a bad idea, hopefully somebody’s taking care of that - and he doesn’t jerk awake until his elbow slides right off his knee. “I’m awake,” he blurts out.

“We didn’t think you weren’t,” Steve says, and Tony realizes everybody’s looking at him. “Any thoughts on the situation on Xandar?”

“Which one is Xandar, again?” Tony says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Pink people or purple people?”

“It’s actually a little more complicated than that,” Bruce says. 

“I’m sure it is,” Tony says. He looks around at everyone staring at him, their faces everywhere along the spectrum from discomfort to pity, and climbs over the back of the sofa. “Anybody else want a drink? Bruce? Just one martini, you can have one and go straight back to work, you can’t even feel them these days, I know you can’t. Rhodey, sweet cheeks, Manhattan on the rocks coming right up, you know I’ve got you - ”

“We actually aren’t - I guess we’re done,” Steve says as Tony opens the cupboard above the bar. “Rhodey, Wanda, let’s regroup on Xandar tomorrow.”

“Wilson, heads up,” Tony says, sliding a beer across the bar in Sam’s direction. “Anybody else? Beer? Wanda?”

“I’ll take one,” Peter says hopefully.

“Nice try, kid,” Tony says.

“I drink at school all the time, what’s the difference?”

“The difference is that shotgunning a Natty Light in your dorm room is very different than being served a beer at your job by the adults who are theoretically responsible for you,” Tony says. 

“Wait, this is a job?” Peter says. “Am I supposed to be getting paid?”

“We’re responsible for Parker?” Sam says. “I don’t remember signing to be a babysitter.”

“I’m almost nineteen,” Peter groans. “When will this end?” 

“Never,” Tony says, pouring himself a scotch. “You’re a junior Avenger. This is your life now. Accept it.”

“When do I stop being a _junior_ Avenger?”

“When all of us retire,” Tony says. 

“So, never,” Rhodey translates. “Tony’s incapable of retiring. He actually invented time travel so he wouldn’t have to retire.” 

“Lies, all of it,” Tony says, shoving a drink in Rhodey’s direction as Steve walks up to the bar. “Hiya, Cap. Can I get you anything?”

“I wouldn’t mind my meeting back,” Steve says mildly.

“I don’t think I have any meetings behind the bar, but can I offer you a 7-up?”

“I’ll take a beer, actually,” Steve says, and pulls the cap off with his bare hands like a show-off. “I didn’t think tonight was going to turn into a party.”

“Well, we saved the world, we deserve a party once in a while,” Tony says. “How’s the new shield treating you? I mean, the real test will be in a fight, but - ”

“It’s perfect,” Steve says, in that irritating, uncomfortably genuine way he has, and Tony busies himself with finishing an entire glass of scotch so he doesn’t have to make eye contact. 

“You should go in uniform to one of those rallies they keep having,” Tony says. “Remind them who they’re dealing with.”

“I don’t have any interest in intimidation tactics.”

“Just in getting your ass handed to you?”

“Taking a few swings at somebody probably made them feel better. I know it always does for me.”

“And you’re happy to be the punching bag.”

“I can take it,” Steve says, and Tony thinks for a second that it’s an accusation, _I can take it because you can’t_, but when he looks at Steve he sees that that’s not it at all, because Steve looks just as unhappy about it as he does. 

“You shouldn’t have to,” Tony says shortly.

“I don’t know what else to do to help,” Steve admits. 

Tony can tell it costs him something to say it. He blows out a breath and pours himself another glass. “Yeah. Me neither.” He hears something behind him and whirls around to see Peter climbing down the wall from the ceiling in the direction of the bar. “Cap, there’s a spider, quick, get it away from here, it’s underage.”

“Just give the kid a beer, Tony,” Steve says, pulling one out of the fridge and holding it out.

“Yessss,” Peter says, flipping off the wall and taking the beer. 

“Steve!” Tony says, feigning disapproval.

“Drinking age is 18 where I come from,” Steve says.

“Boom!” Peter says.

“I’m appalled,” Tony says.

-

“I’m still,” Tony says, “I’m - what’s the word I’m looking for?”

“Drunk?” Rhodey suggests.

“Fuck you,” Tony says, “I’m not - appalled! That’s the word. I’m still _appalled_ that you - Captain America! - are not just allowing but _encouraging_ underage drinking.”

“Didn’t you once tell me you started drinking when you were 13?” Steve says, arching an eyebrow.

“That’s different,” Tony says. “I’m _me_.”

“That argument doesn’t work for everything, you know,” Rhodey says.

“It works for most things,” Tony argues.

Peter has only had the one beer, but everyone else, as far as Tony can tell, has had significantly more. Or at least, Tony has, so he has to assume everyone else has too. It’s a party, after all! Or, well, it’s a party _now_. It was a meeting originally, but you know. Whatever. 

Peter dives to the floor in the center of the room and catches, at the last possible moment, a priceless porcelain vase that Sam’s thrown for him to catch. “That was a close one,” Sam says. “You getting tired, Parker?”

“I’m getting bored, actually,” Peter says, tossing the vase from one hand to the other. “Wanna go throw them off the balcony for me?”

Bruce tilts his head. “That doesn’t seem like a _great_ \- ”

“Oh, you’re on, kid,” Sam says. “Tony, you got any more junk lying around that we can throw off the tower?”

“Anything you want,” Tony says, waving his hand at the walls and nearly spilling his glass. “All yours, pal.”

“ - been trying to get him out of town, I think it might be good for him,” Rhodey’s saying, and Tony spins around. 

“Are you talking about me?” he says.

Rhodey and Steve look up innocently. “No,” Rhodey says.

“Not everything is about you, Tony,” Steve adds. 

“Most things are.”

“Yeah, he’s the worst,” Rhodey says, rolling his eyes. 

“Guys,” Tony says, and throws back whatever he’s got in his glass, it tastes like _nothing_, which is weird because he’s pretty sure it’s expensive as hell, “should we go flying? I feel like we should go flying.”

“I’m probably good,” Rhodey says, reaching for the glass in Tony’s hand. “Maybe we should - ”

-

The next thing Tony knows his head in is a toilet bowl. A very expensive, state-of-the-art toilet bowl, sure, but still. 

“Fuck,” he groans, and it echoes around the marble room. 

“Water?” somebody says.

The idea makes Tony’s stomach roll over. He closes his eyes until the spinning slows down and then leans back against the wall and cracks an eye. “Where’s Rhodey?” 

“He tagged out,” Steve says.

“Nobody needed to tag back in.”

Steve shrugs. “I didn’t have anything better to do.”

“Somehow I don’t believe that.”

Steve pushes a water bottle toward Tony. “You can believe whatever you want.”

Tony scans back through the evening and winces. “Did I really throw my dad’s ‘thanks for helping us end World War II’ present from President Eisenhower off the landing pad?”

“Peter caught it,” Steve says.

“I wonder if that counts as treason.”

“You’ve been pardoned for worse.”

“Ouch,” Tony says. 

They sit in silence for a while. Tony considers puking again, and decides against it. Next time he opens his eyes, Steve is still there. “You can go, you know. I’m not gonna die.”

“I’m aware,” Steve says. “Maybe I just like the company.”

“Man, the 40s must have been boring for you to consider this ‘company.’ I’m serious, I don’t need to be coddled just because I just got divorced.”

“I’m not here because you just got divorced.”

“Right,” Tony says. “Then you’re here because… why, exactly?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Because that’s what friends do?” 

“Oh,” Tony says. He thinks about it. The world spins. “I don’t.”

“I think that’s because you’re usually the drunk one,” Steve says.

“Maybe,” Tony muses, and shuts his eyes again.

-

When Tony wakes up he’s in his own bed with a couple water bottles and a bottle of aspirin on the bedside table. The Avengers grouptext is full of pictures from the night before. There’s one of Bruce tossing empties for Wanda to float up to the ceiling, and one of Peter catching a Monet Barnes is throwing off the helipad, and one of Tony with one arm around Rhodey and the other around Steve, grinning like an idiot while they laugh at something (probably him). Jeez. Embarrassing. 

He should probably save them all to the permanent drive, just in case.

-

Tony used to work all the time because he didn’t have anything better to do, except party and sleep with supermodels and jetset around the world and whatever. Now, he has a lot of better things to do, like hang out with his kid and help Peter with his physics homework and tool around with his ragtag band of crime-stopping hooligans, but he works all the time anyway, because he is, in the words of the Washington Post, America’s #1 Job Creator.

It’s effective, apparently. Employment has soared in the eighteen months since the Blip, even while Stark Industries shares have sunk. He wasn’t joking when he told Steve he’s not a billionaire anymore: between the re-start-up costs of his entire consumer products business and the ongoing funding demands on the Maria Stark Foundation, Tony’s coffers are starting to get low. Not that he cares, and anyway, he can always go back to selling weapons if he has to.

“That was a _joke_,” Tony says.

Rhodey looks unimpressed. “It’s not the kind of joke you can make around the secretary of defense and you know it.”

“He’s lucky I even talk to him,” Tony says as he waves to the security guard at the end of the Pentagon’s driveway. “I should be spending all my time on VR headsets and automated vacuum cleaners. That’s what’s driving the economy, not his space defense program.”

“The space defense program was _your idea_.”

“Yeah, but still,” Tony says. “Hey, how’s the sound quality on this thing? It’s in R&D, but I think I’m pushing it to manufacturing next week.”

“Does the public really need an in-car hologram?” holo-Rhodey says from Tony’s dashboard.

“They said the same thing about car phones, and look what happened,” Tony says.

“Yeah, we don’t have car phones anymore!”

“Oh, sorry, you’re breaking up, I’ll call you later,” Tony says, and hangs up on him. 

He works on the entire flight home, and then he works til Morgan arrives, and then after Morgan goes to sleep he goes back to work. Pepper used to get on him about it, tell him that working himself to an early grave wasn’t going to help anybody, but nowadays there’s nobody to nag him except Friday, and he’s programmed her to back off, so it’s a quiet night. 

“Morgan’s awake,” Friday says.

“Nightmare?” Tony says, pulling up a feed from her room.

“It’s eight in the morning.”

“Oh,” Tony says. “Tell her I’ll be up in a few.”

“Will do.”

He blinks a couple of times and looks down at the code he’s working on. One of the (very few) positives from the post-Snap period was the continued shift away from fossil fuels, but it turns out that the battery breakthrough Tony had in ‘21 needs a few touch-ups, and if he can just get the last transistor right he can send it to QA and - 

“Boss,” Friday says, and flashes the time on his screen: 8:45 am.

“Shit,” Tony says. “All right, I’m going, I’m going right now.”

“Glad to hear it,” Friday says. “Captain Rogers is with her.”

Tony’s head snaps up as he steps into the elevator. “Cap’s here?”

Friday projects the feed from the living room. Steve and Morgan are in the living room with a giant pad of paper spread out on the coffee table; off to the side, there are a matched set of empty bowls with the dregs of milk and a few soggy Fruit Loops. 

“He has unrestricted access to the penthouse and found her about to spill an entire gallon of milk,” Friday says by way of explanation. 

“He didn’t ask to see me?”

“He said not to interrupt you. It’s not the first time.”

“Not the first time?” Tony asks. “What do you mean?”

“He stops by sometimes and asks if you’re home. Says he’s on his way to Miss Maximoff’s quarters or the gym, usually, but sometimes he leaves if you’re not here.”

“And sometimes if I am, he feeds my kid breakfast?”

“Apparently.”

The elevator doors slide open silently, and the penthouse is bathed in bright morning light. “Hi Daddy,” Morgan calls out. 

“Hi, kiddo,” Tony says. “Sorry I missed breakfast.”

“Cap says we should have something healthier than Fruit Loops in the house,” Morgan says, not looking up from the futuristic-looking unicorn she’s drawing.

“I didn’t intend for that to be repeated,” Steve says, smirking at Tony over a cup of coffee. 

“Liar,” Tony says, flopping down on the couch. “What’s up, Capsicle? Decided to drop by and cast aspersions on my ability to feed my daughter?”

“Pretty much,” Steve says. He’s sketching something big, a building surrounded by trees, and it hits Tony like a punch to the gut when he realizes it’s the base that Thanos destroyed. When Steve looks up and sees Tony’s gaze, he quickly covers it with his elbow. “Any plans today?”

“That’s Morgan’s call,” Tony says. 

“I want to go flying,” Morgan says.

Tony winces. “We only go flying in Pennsylvania, munchkin.”

“But you never come to Pennsylvania anymore!”

“I came for your birthday,” Tony says. 

“That was three months ago,” Morgan whines. “Please can’t we go flying?”

Tony sends Steve a tight smile. “Thanks for asking about our plans.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, and he looks it, too, which takes _all_ the fun out of it. “I didn’t mean to - ”

“No, ugh, don’t, I’m just being an a-s-s-h-o-l-e,” Tony says.

“Ace-holey?” Morgan says, because she might be testing at eleventh grade reading levels at age six but, luckily for Tony, spelling isn’t her strong suit.

“Exactly,” Tony says. “Maybe we can go flying next week, what about the park today?”

Morgan puts down her crayon and considers it. “Can Cap come?”

“Oh,” Steve says, “I - ”

“He’s probably busy,” Tony says. “You know, with Captain America things.”

“Actually, Sam bailed on brunch,” Steve says. “He had a sleepover with a friend.”

“Good for him. Is his friend hot? I mean, is she smart and interesting and nice? Because that’s what matters,” Tony says loudly, even though Morgan is definitely not paying attention. 

Going to the park involves getting Happy out to do recon and security, and two Avengers in one public place is still enough to get the public pretty amped up, but after a couple of rounds of selfies the crowd disperses. Morgan’s used to it, anyway, and she barely notices the cameras once she’s on the swings. 

“You don’t have to stick around,” Tony says after Morgan runs off to take possession of the jungle gym, as is her due. “Seriously, no offense, but she won’t even notice if you leave.”

“I don’t mind,” Steve says. “It’s kind of nice, actually.”

“Yeah, screaming kids and paparazzi, every single man’s dream Saturday morning.”

“Could be worse,” Steve says, which is true every day, all the time, but Tony tries not to think about it that way and apparently Steve agrees because he adds, “I mean, I could be stuck getting brunch with Sam and his one night stand.”

“Maybe his one night stand could bring a friend,” Tony says.

“Last time I went on a double date with Sam we ended up with a four page spread in People.”

“I told you the solution to that, I _told_ you - ”

“Tony, not all of us like the idea of bringing an NDA on a first date.”

“It’s good advice and you know it. But hey, there’s probably somebody out there you won’t need the NDA for.”

“Maybe,” Steve says.

“You could always date somebody you already know.”

Steve snorts. “It’s just that easy, huh?”

“Don’t ask me, I’m 0 for 1,” Tony says. “I actually meant that we kind of have a time machine.”

Steve looks at him sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on,” Tony says. “You never think about it? Really?”

“We know we can’t change the past,” Steve says.

“No, but you could make your own,” Tony says. 

Steve watches the kids play for a while. Across the playground, Morgan pops out of a slide with a shriek. “It’d be messy,” he says finally. “Keeping my head down. Or creating a new timeline, more likely. I’d have to be pretty desperate.”

“Still might be worth it.”

Steve elbows him. “You trying to get rid of me?”

“Actually I’m trying to make you happy,” Tony says. “Ever heard of it?”

“I’m familiar with the concept,” Steve says. 

“Well, maybe you should try it out sometime,” Tony says, and they go back to watching the kids.

-

Because Steve is a self-sacrificing glutton for punishment, when J. Jonah Jameson asks him for an interview, he takes it. And because Tony is, for reasons he can’t explain and doesn’t care to try, apparently the newly self-appointed president of the Steve Rogers Cheerleading Committee, he offers to host it.

“You don’t need to be here,” Steve murmurs for the tenth time.

“Believe me, I don’t want to be here,” Tony says. Around them, Jameson’s lackeys are setting up equipment all over the penthouse, bright stage lights and multiple camera angles; J. Jonah himself is across the room having his face powdered. “But it’s my house, so, you know.”

“It’s going to make a statement, having the interview here,” Steve says. 

“Exactly,” Tony says. “Jameson would love to think he can divide and conquer us, maybe get somebody to stir some shit up, find a weak spot, but guess what? Been there, blew up that airport, not doing it again.”

“But if you’re here he’s going to drag you into it,” Steve says. 

“He is certainly welcome to try.”

“I don’t need you to - ”

“I know you don’t,” Tony interrupts smoothly. “But that’s what friends do, right? Looks like you’re up.” He claps Steve on the shoulder and joins Sam along the wall with the PAs, who all skitter away nervously, like they think maybe he’s going to bite them. 

“Thanks for coming today, Captain Rogers,” Jameson says, holding out a hand. Jameson’s rise to online notoriety after the snap was laid on a foundation of conspiracy theories and built with bricks of panic and scarcity, so while Tony isn’t exactly surprised that a guy who made a living calling the death of half of humanity a “long-awaited judgment from a higher power” is still seeing enemies everywhere, that doesn’t mean he’s not taking it personally.

Steve shakes it without smiling. “Thanks for having me.”

“He should break his hand,” Sam murmurs at Tony’s side. 

“He should throw him out the window,” Tony whispers back, and Sam snorts.

“ - still a lot of questions,” Jameson is saying, “about what happened the day of the Blip.”

“That’s understandable,” Steve says. 

“And the Avengers haven’t been particularly forthcoming with the details.” 

“That’s because there aren’t many to share,” Steve says. “When Thanos came back to earth to end humanity once and for all, we were able to delay him long enough to recover everyone who was lost. Our base was destroyed in the process of taking down him and his army. We lost good people that day.”

“Yes, the Black Widow, a known assassin and spy,” Jameson says, and Tony feels Sam tense beside him. “Responsible for at least fourteen known hits against American citizens. Died a hero, I’m sure.”

“She did,” Steve says calmly, and he’s a better man than Tony, that’s for sure. 

“So why did this Thanos - who you’ve always _insisted_ exists - decide to come back for you, when you swore years ago that he was gone for good?”

“Well, I wish we could answer that, but we can’t,” Steve says. “But he existed, and now he’s dead, and the whole universe is a better place for it.”

“It just seems like, if it was all so above board, why doesn’t the public have more details?”

“The public has all the details that are available to be - ”

“And speaking of details, when you chose to resurrect the dead - ”

“I hate when people say resurrect, we didn’t _resurrect_ you guys, you’re not _Jesus_,” Tony grumbles.

“ - did you consider being more selective?”

Steve’s jaw hardens; they all know what’s coming. “How so?”

“Well, alongside all the freedom-loving, god-fearing Americans you brought back, you brought back some pretty bad people, too,” Jameson says. 

“That may be true,” Steve says, “but making the decision not to do so would be unconstitutional and wrong. Who are any of us to be the sole arbiters of justice? It would have made us no better than murderers.”

“Speaking of murderers,” Jameson says, “what about all the criminals who Blipped back and then escaped from prisons that had been abandoned? In New York alone, there are over two hundred prisoners who have yet to be re-captured. How will you feel if one of them murders someone?”

Tony, who thinks about such a scenario pretty much every night before he goes to sleep, winces. “We would address that through the criminal justice system just like we always have,” Steve says, and his voice is steady but Tony can tell the questions are wearing him down.

“But how would you _feel_?” Jameson says. “Guilty? Ashamed of your choices?”

“What matters isn’t how I feel, what matters is what’s right,” Steve says firmly.

“I just find it interesting,” Jameson says, “that a man who claims to be a symbol of liberty, justice, and the American way brought back _everyone_, including known enemies of the United States. For all you know, you brought back members of HYDRA.” Jameson leans back in his seat. “But then again, it’s well known that you count HYDRA operatives among your closest friends.”

Sam stands up straight, and Tony wishes, just a little bit, that he was wearing the suit. 

“I’m not sure how that’s relevant,” Steve says. 

“You don’t know how your best friend’s criminal past is relevant?” Jameson says skeptically. “Here’s a question, Captain: did you know that there is legislation being introduced to have James Barnes - who if I’m remembering correctly you fought to have posthumously pardoned for the crimes he committed while working as an assassin for HYDRA - brought to trial?”

“That seems like a matter for the courts to handle,” Steve says neutrally. “Why don’t we spend some time talking about all the good work being done by the people of New York to help their friends and neighbors who have struggled since the Blip. There are so many charities that are in need of - ”

“I’d rather talk more about the murders that James Barnes committed throughout his decades of service with HYDRA,” Jameson interrupts. “Including, if the rumors are to be believed, the murders of Howard and Maria Stark. How is that a man Captain America can possibly defend?”

It’s not until Sam reaches out and grabs his elbow that Tony realizes he’s taken a step forward. “Don’t,” Sam mutters. “He wants you to make a scene. It’s clickbait.”

“HYDRA is well known for its brainwashing and espionage,” Steve recites, but Tony can hear his voice starting to go taut. “I think this is off topic, so why don’t we - ”

“Off topic for Captain America to talk about why he insists on protecting a killer? How can you even call yourself Captain America anymore?” Jameson leans forward, and Tony is reminded of a lion going in for the kill. “You may have used your influence to avoid accusations of treason in the past, but there are still people who are determined to make sure you answer for the crimes we know about, and the ones we don’t. How would you respond to them?”

“Yeah, we’re done here,” Tony calls out, and everyone spins toward him. “Cut the cameras and get out of my house.”

“On the record, we have Tony Stark in the room,” Jameson says, turning back to the camera.

“I’m serious, you’re done,” Tony snaps. “In thirty seconds this’ll be considered trespassing, do you really want to know what it’s like to be considered a hostile in Avengers tower?”

“Tony,” Steve says.

“Nobody’s saying another word,” Tony says. “Jameson, do I need to remove you, or are you removing yourself?”

Jameson grins at Tony, and Tony wants to punch him. “We’re already on our way out, Mr. Stark. Thank you so much for your hospitality.”

“Yeah, anytime,” Tony says. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Steve says as the last cameraman skitters into the elevator. “He’ll be coming for you next.”

“Yeah, and having a target on my back is brand new to me,” Tony says. “Don’t sweat it.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “That could have gone better.”

“Not sure what you expected,” Sam says. “Did you think you could convince him not to be a bigoted, conspiracy theory-believing asshole by _talking_ to him?”

“I actually wanted to show him someone was listening,” Steve says, looking frustrated. 

“Well, we’re not listening anymore,” Tony says. “Hey, what do you want from Shake Shack? Hopefully everything, because I already ordered it. It’s called comfort eating and we’re doing it.”

Steve demolishes four burgers and two shakes before Sam rescues a few and takes them down to Wanda’s room. When Tony looks up, Steve’s looking so miserable that Tony can’t help but say, “You wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.”

“So you’d rather just glare at those french fries like they killed your pet bald eagle.”

“Yup.”

“That guy’s a dick.”

“He’s a dick who a lot of people listen to.”

“That doesn’t make him any less of a dick,” Tony says. “It’s not your job to convince everyone what we did was right.”

“Whose job is it, then?” Steve says bitterly. “And it’s not like you’re doing any differently.”

“I’m not holding interviews with rabble-rousing bigoted assholes, actually.”

“No, but I heard there’s talk of you getting voted off the board of your own company for sinking money into job creation projects that’ll never see a penny of profit.”

“Don’t believe everything you read in the Wall Street Journal.” Tony grabs a fry from Steve’s container. “Do you ever think about if we should have done things differently?”

“Yes,” Steve says immediately. “All the time.”

“So you wish we had.”

“That’s not what I said,” Steve says. “I do think about it, and I always come back to the same answer: we did what we had to do.”

“Because I convinced you,” Tony says.

“No,” Steve says. “First of all, we don’t even know what would have happened if we’d tried to take everybody back five years to the moment of the Snap. Maybe it wouldn’t have worked. Maybe we would have made things worse. And even if it had worked, that’s a big decision to make for half the universe, wiping away five years of their lives.”

“Even though those years were shitty for a lot of people,” Tony says, and he hears his voice getting louder. “Even though, arguably, we _did_ wipe away five years from the people who Blipped, all because I was selfish and couldn’t risk disappearing my kid - ”

“Tony,” Steve says, firmly, and Tony shuts his mouth. “That’s not why we did it.”

“It’s _one_ of the - ”

“Morgan’s not the only kid who would have disappeared,” Steve interrupts. “She happens to my favorite, sure, but there’s billions of kids across the universe who wouldn’t have existed anymore if we’d taken everybody back five years. Who are we to deny them life? Who are we to tell the universe how it should work? That’s what sets us apart from Thanos, Tony. We didn’t set out with an agenda. We’re just doing the best we can.”

Tony sits back in his chair. “Too bad you weren’t this eloquent with Jameson.”

“Maybe I should write it down,” Steve mutters, and takes another burger off the pile.

“You know,” Tony says, after a long silence, “all that stuff the Ancient One told us, and Strange and his 14 million possibilities, that means there are different versions of us out there, right? People who are us, kind of, but did all kinds of different things. So it makes me think - ”

“That there’s probably a version of us out there that did it differently,” Steve finishes. 

“Exactly,” Tony says. “Really, if you want to get into the quantum possibility matrix of it all, there’s probably a version of us out there that does all kinds of things. I mean, there’s probably a version of you that votes Republican. There’s a me who adds roller skates to the suit.”

“Tony, you’d do that _now_.” 

“True, I have tried just about everything.”

Steve glances at him, and his lips quirk into a grin that Tony can’t quite read. “Not _everything_.”

And it’s not until Steve’s cleaned up the Shake Shack detritus and said goodbye to Sam and gone back to Brooklyn that Tony realizes that maybe, just maybe, Steve was _flirting_ with him.

-

Fury shows up for their next team meeting even though - and Tony knows this for a _fact_ \- he is absolutely not invited.

“It’s funny that you think I would wait for an invitation,” Fury says.

Everyone else waits patiently while Tony and Fury stare each other down from opposite ends of the table.

“Cookie?” Peter says obliviously, holding out a plate to him. “They’re from my aunt May. Oh, and she didn’t bake them, she bought them, so they should be fine. She says hi to everyone, by the way.” 

Fury arches an eyebrow. “Is this how you conduct team meetings these days, Captain? Start off with baked goods?”

“It’s good for morale,” Steve says, grabbing a cookie and settling into his seat. “Did you have an item for the agenda?”

Fury glares around at all of them, presumably just because he can, and then pulls out a scratched up smartphone that Tony can politely describe only as _antiquated_. “We may have a situation in Mexico. A small town was destroyed by a cyclone last week - only a few casualties, but destruction on a mass scale. Problem is, I haven’t seen cyclones with faces before.”

He hits play on the screen, and they all lean in to watch.

“Huh,” Tony says when the video ends. “I’d be more compelled by this so-called video evidence if it wasn’t shot on what appears to be a Motorola Razr 3.”

“But it does kind of look like it has a face,” Bruce muses. “Any other readings?”

“Nope,” Fury says. “Only a few witnesses, and all of them say the same thing - it showed up out of no where, destroyed their town, and then it was gone.”

“Danvers seen it? Could be aliens,” Tony says.

“She’s not in the neighborhood,” Fury says. “Unfortunately, you all are the best I’ve got.”

“We were good enough to bring you back to life,” Tony shoots back.

“A fact I regret daily, Stark.”

“Send over everything you’ve got,” Steve says. “Any other items of business?”

“Oh, Cap, I saw an autotuned version of your interview with J. Jonah Jameson,” Scott says on speakerphone from San Francisco. “It was hilarious, I’ll send it to the grouptext.”

“Thanks, Scott, that’d be super helpful,” Steve says. “Anything more official? No? In that case, pass the cookies, Peter.”

“Comfort eating,” Tony mouths, and at the other end of the table Barnes chuckles.

“Wait, what’d you say?” Scott says. “Man, I hate not being able to see everybody, how do I get one of those holo-thingies installed in my house, do I have to call Comcast for that or what?”

“Sorry, Lang, you’re breaking up,” Tony says, and hangs up on him. “Technology, am I right?”

Somebody has apparently gotten tired of eating pizza at team meetings - “That’s what happens when you let Steve order dinner every time, folks, the man has the metabolism of a fourteen year old boy” - and the kitchen is full of nothing but salads, so ultimately everybody is grateful for the store-bought cookies from May. Peter’s telling Tony a story about his astrophysics professor and his complete misunderstanding of the relationship between propulsion and distance in space but he can’t say _anything_ because there’s literally no way to explain that he’s, you know, _been to space_ without revealing that he’s Spiderman, and it would be a really bad time for that because it’s midterms next week and - 

“Mr. Stark? Are you listening?”

Tony blinks. Across the room, Steve is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, listening to Sam and Bruce argue about something. He looks like he’s paying attention but Tony can tell he’s a million miles away by the tension in his jaw, and Tony wants to catch his eye, break him out of whatever rabbit hole he’s going down and bring him back to Earth, maybe make him laugh at something dumb to knock that look out of his eyes - 

Peter follows his gaze. “Um,” he says, “are you okay?”

“Nothing,” Tony says, snapping his head around. “I mean, yeah. What? So drop the class.”

“I can’t drop the class, I need it for my major,” Peter says. “What’s going on?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean you’re staring at Cap,” Peter says. “What’s up with you guys?”

“Nothing’s up,” Tony says. “What’s up with _you_ thinking something’s up?”

“I mean, I know it’s not like it was before, when I first met you guys - ”

“You mean we’re not throwing punches at each other outside terminal 2? It’s been a lot longer since then for us than it has for you, you know.”

“Well, yeah, but lately, you’re like - you know. Buddy buddy.”

“Well, sure. We’re friends.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “But like, friends like me and Ned are friends, or friends like me and MJ are friends? Because look, I’ve had a crush on MJ forever and I’m not really into dudes but if Captain America looked at _me_ like that - ”

“We’re _friends_,” Tony repeats, aggressively.

“He smiles at you a lot,” Peter says. “I don’t see him smile that much, but with you - ”

“I’m sorry, did you want that underwater upgrade to your suit or not? Because all this butting into things you don’t know anything about is going to get that moved right to the bottom of the priority list.”

“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, but Tony’s been going too easy on him lately, clearly, because he’s smirking.

-

Tony’s all ready to ignore the cyclone with a face until a water creature with an entire _body_ shows up in Venice. 

Only a couple people get hurt, but the Rialto Bridge is seriously damaged and after the dozens of clear-as-crystal StarkPhone videos are uploaded to YouTube all the headlines ask: “So Where Were The Avengers?”

Well, smarty pants, it turns out most of the Avengers live in New York. Tony watches the news with everybody else, wonders about the guy in green with the scuba mask gone wrong, which, look, Tony’s done the secret identity thing, he gets it, but it’s inconvenient and when he’s really honest he kind of hopes Fury is all over this one. 

“What do you mean, you were _there_?” Tony snaps.

Fury arches an eyebrow. It’s the one over the eyepatch, if you’re curious. “We received some intel.”

“And why weren’t we read in?”

“Because you don’t invite me to your meetings.” 

“That’s just petty, Nick.”

“Fair’s fair.” 

“And you don’t know who Scuba Man is?”

“We received an anonymous tip,” Fury says. “We think they may be connected.”

“And now you want me to take a look,” Tony says. “Send over everything you have and maybe I’ll forgive you for forgetting to send my invite.”

“Only since you asked so nicely,” Fury says. 

The data from Fury is interesting, and the videos from Twitter and surveillance footage from every angle fill in a lot of gaps; before long he’s reconstructed the entire scene in miniature and is walking through the action in slow motion, almost every detail perfectly rendered in holographic 3D. 

He watches the guy in the helmet and the cape swoop and dive, his actions smooth and calculated. He looks like somebody who’s used to flying, used to fighting, and Tony wonders where he came from. Between Fury and Strange, wasn’t somebody supposed to be keeping track of all potential extraordinary types? It’s not like new superheroes hadn’t come out of the woodwork over the years, but - 

Tony freezes. “Friday, play that last four seconds back.”

The 3D figures zoom backwards, then start up. The helmeted man dives again, and - 

“Freeze it there,” Tony says, and the whole scene grinds to a halt. “Zoom in two hundred percent. Above the bridge. Yeah. You see that, Friday? Let’s play it again.”

Three hours later Tony texts Steve. _Busy_?

-

Tony’s got everything queued up when Steve arrives, and he plays the whole scene through twice before Steve looks up at him, frowning, and says, “What am I looking for?”

“Friday?” Friday speeds through the scene again, then narrows in on one moment. “Frame by frame, baby. There we go. So, this is more detailed than the human eye can perceive, but if you look here - yup, there. See anything?”

Steve leans in. “It looks like something’s… missing.”

“Bingo,” Tony says. “Looks like a monitor with a burned out pixel, right? But just for an instant, then - gone.”

“So what do you think it is?”

“I think it’s exactly what it looks like,” Tony says. 

“Which means…”

“Which means the whole thing’s fake.”

“_What_?”

“So, the energy readings from this thing are weird, right? Sure, that checks out, it’s supposed to be an elemental water monster, whatever, but the _only_ readings Fury could give us were electrical. I thought at first that it must hold itself together through some kind of electrical charge, maybe depolarization of its own atoms, but you know what else would cause these kinds of readings?”

“What?”

“A bunch of fucking iPhone screens,” Tony says, throwing his phone onto the table. “I don’t know what this is, but it’s not some long-buried demon. It’s tech.”

“Why would someone do this?” Steve says, walking around the frozen image slowly.

“Lotta people mad these days,” Tony says. “And most of them are mad at us.”

“You think somebody’s trying to set us up.”

“Sure. Or draw us out.”

“Or distract us from something bigger,” Steve says. “Can you prove it?”

“Of course I can prove it, but it’d be helpful to know who I was accusing. Friday, keep combing the footage for more inconsistencies, and start running the names of witnesses.” Tony smiles broadly at Steve, more confidently than he feels. “We’ll find something.”

“Thanks for calling. I’m glad you showed me.”

“No big thing. You’re in charge, right?”

“That’s what they say,” Steve says. “So are you busy here, or would you want to grab some dinner?”

“Sure, takeout menus in the second drawer from the top. You thinking Chinese? I could go for - ”

“Actually, I meant - do you want to go out?” 

Tony looks up from his keypad. “You mean, you and me? Now?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “You and me. Now.”

It is, in some indefinable way, very much an invitation. And over the course of his life, Tony has had feelings about Steve along the entire spectrum - he’s idolized him and been irritated by him and been proud of him and hated him, it’s been _complicated_, and the thing is, he really didn’t think there was any new ground to cover. 

But apparently he was wrong, because he doesn’t even hesitate before he says, “Sure.”

-

They get a table in the back of a little place in Chelsea that Tony has on retainer to keep paparazzi away; Tony orders a bottle of wine and drinks his first glass in thirty seconds flat and wonders exactly when hanging out with Steve fucking Rogers started making him _nervous_ instead of just vaguely annoyed.

“What’s good here?” Steve asks.

“Well, Morgan loves the chicken tenders,” Tony says. 

“Should I be offended that you’re comparing my tastes to your six year old’s?”

“She’s a very mature six.”

“I can’t argue with that. I don’t know many six year olds, but I can tell she’s pretty special.”

“Ugh, don’t say that in front of her,” Tony says. “It’ll send her ego through the roof and she’s already genetically predisposed to that so we have to watch it - the other day I caught Happy telling her she’d make a good CEO just like her mom. Which by the way, excuse me, I was also a good CEO.”

“You were an okay CEO, from what I’ve heard.”

“It wasn’t my calling,” Tony says. “You know, I really never thought I’d have kids, never planned on it, planned pretty hard _against_ it, actually, but it’s one of the coolest things I’ve ever done. And scariest. And most fun. And wow, okay, I’m doing that thing parents do where they talk about their kids nonstop, I used to hate that, I think I fired somebody for that once, actually.”

“I don’t mind,” Steve says. “Morgan’s easy to like. You should start bringing her to meetings, she can be a junior Avenger.”

“Over my dead body,” Tony says. “If she tries to be a superhero, you know who her first bad guy is going to be? Me. Boys I won’t worry about so much, but suits of armor, that’ll get her grounded.”

“Can you imagine trying to date Tony Stark’s kid?” Steve says. “I don’t envy that sixteen year old.”

“Peter once went out with a girl whose dad was trying to kill him. Like, unrelatedly, though. Long story.” 

“He still pining away after that friend of his from high school?”

“Always - I keep telling him, you know, the girls really go for the superhero thing, just one little social media slip-up and they’ll be lining up at your door…”

“Give him a break,” Steve says. “Before he was Spiderman he was just a regular kid. Kind of a nerdy one, in fact. That kind of upgrade… it takes some getting used to.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “You speak from experience?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Steve says. “Sometimes I forget I’m not still just that kid from Brooklyn getting turned down by every girl I ask to dance.”

“Well, it doesn’t show,” Tony says, and Steve laughs, and Tony’s relieved as hell that their salads arrive at exactly that moment.

They talk about work, and the team, and they spend a decent chunk of time making fun of Fury, which is pastime Tony can finally admit he really missed during the years Nick was dead. When the check comes, Steve pays, which Tony finds kind of hilarious considering he’s the team’s only current benefactor, but also kind of sweet, so he doesn’t say anything. 

Ugh, did he really just think the words _sweet _and _Steve_ in the same sentence? 

On the drive home Happy talks their ears off about the Mets game that finished while he was waiting with the car, and when they park Tony turns to Steve before he can think better of it and blurts out, “Do you want to come upstairs?”

Happy, tactful as always, slides out of the car and gently shuts the door behind him.

“I mean,” Tony says, “to look at the tapes again. If you don’t have anything else going on, of course. We could see what Friday’s found out since we left, maybe something’s turned up - ”

“Sure,” Steve says. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

They ride the elevator up in silence, and Tony goes straight to the bar. “Friday, anything hot?”

“Not yet, boss.” 

“Drink while we wait?” Tony says, pulling out two glasses. 

Steve cocks a hip against the bar. “You expecting to find something tonight?”

“We can always hope.” Tony pours a glass of scotch and holds it out. Steve reaches for it, and as soon as their fingers brush Tony blurts out, “Is this a date?” which, look, isn’t his _smoothest_ move ever, but he’s a little rusty, okay?

Steve chuckles. “It’s dinner, Tony.”

“Right,” Tony says, but it’s not an answer at _all_, and Steve just smiles at him and finishes his drink, and eventually they give up on the footage and Steve says good night and goes back to his place in Brooklyn, which is exactly what Tony expected to happen and totally, completely, 100% fine. 

-

Tony’s already had a few too many drinks when Nicola Blake saunters up to him and says, “Long time no see.”

“A lifetime,” Tony agrees, pressing a kiss to her cheek. They’d slept together a few times, way _way_ before Pepper, nothing serious, and before she moved to Hollywood she’d actually gotten a degree in biochemistry from Harvard so the pillow talk had always been better than usual. There’d never been any hard feelings, and in the sea of wealthy donors and Stark Industries execs swarming the fundraiser for May Parker’s Blip Displacement charity, she was a breath of fresh air. “How are you these days?”

“Oh, you know,” Nicola says. “I blipped. My husband didn’t.”

Tony winces. “Tough break.”

“He’s got a beautiful place in Connecticut with his new wife,” Nicola says, her smile bright and almost believable. “Kid on the way. I’ll be godmother, they say.”

“That sucks,” Tony says, because it does.

Nicola takes a sip of champagne. “Seems like you’ve seen your own share of suck.”

“You know how it goes,” Tony says, and Nicola smiles at him, more real this time, because she does.

A waiter passes by, and Tony grabs two more glasses of champagne. “To all the mistakes we’ve made.”

“I don’t remember you and I making that many together,” Nicola says, and downs hers in one gulp. She leans forward until her lips barely brush his ear. “Does that NDA we both signed in ‘04 still apply?”

“In perpetuity,” Tony says.

Nicola lifts a playful eyebrow. “Meet you downstairs in ten?”

Tony considers it. Nicola is beautiful, and kind, and Pepper _hates_ her movies, and there’s something in the back of Tony’s head that makes him think this is a bad idea, but he can’t quite remember what it is right now. He’ll probably figure it out in the morning.

“Make it five,” he says.

-

When Tony wakes up she’s in the shower. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs into his pillow. His head hurts and his mouth is dry and yeah, the sex was great, sure, but god he hopes nobody saw them leaving together, for a number of reasons, including Pepper, and Morgan, and Rhodey, who will probably yell at him about how he’s too old to be sleeping with actresses who used to be ten years and are now fifteen years his junior, and, he thinks with a wince, oh yeah -

“Sleep well?” Nicola says, walking out of his bathroom wrapped in a towel.

“Like a log.” He looks away as Nicola drops the towel and slips into her dress from the night before. “No need to walk me out or anything, I can find my way. I’m used to it.”

Tony drags himself out of bed. “Was I _that _much of an asshole?” 

“Honestly, I don’t really remember.” Nicola grins at him. “We always had a good time, huh?”

“I’m too old for some of the types of good times we used to have,” Tony says, pulling on sweats and t-shirt. 

“And too much of a responsible parent,” Nicola says, picking up a stray stuffed animal on Tony’s dresser and tossing at him. 

“And that,” Tony says. He leads the way out of the bedroom, Nicola trailing after him, her heels dangling from her fingers. “Happy’ll take you wherever you want to go - you remember Happy?”

“How could I forget Happy?” Nicola says. “He’s a doll. He used to keep aspirin and ginger ale in the glove compartment.”

“Still does,” Tony says. “Fruit snacks too, these days. Friday, elevator for Miss Blake?”

“Boss,” Friday says, “you should know - ”

“What happened to the British guy?” Nicola says, tilting her head at the ceiling. “I liked him.”

“Long story,” Tony says. “Really long, actually. Maybe another time?”

“Boss - ”

“It was good to see you, Tony,” Nicola says. “See you around?” 

“Sure,” Tony says, and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Next fundraiser, maybe - ”

The elevator doors slide open silently, and when Nicola turns toward them she stops, startled. “Oh. Hel-_lo_.”

“Hi,” Steve says, standing stock still in the elevator.

Tony freezes.

Nicola smiles winningly at Steve. “Were you getting out?” 

“Nope,” Steve says. “Wrong floor.”

“Cap,” Tony says.

“Ground level?” Steve says as Nicola steps inside, and the doors slide shut on them both.

Tony thunks his head against the wall.

“Sorry, boss,” Friday says.

-

The thing is that Steve said it was _dinner_. 

Tony even _asked_. It was dinner, not a date, because he’s _Steve_, and they definitely wouldn’t go on a date because they’re friends, sure, but only just, and it’s not like Steve could be _mad_ at him because even if they are friends these days he’s _definitely _not interested in Tony that way.

At least, Tony’s _pretty_ sure he’s not. Even if he _does_ seem to be flirting sometimes. And even if he _is_ clearly trying to get to know Tony’s kid. And even if Tony _does_ find himself staring at him at completely random times and sometimes gets the feeling Steve’s staring back - 

“Shit,” Tony says. “Shit shit shit.”

“Boss?” Friday says. 

“Nothing,” Tony says. “Run the simulation again, 30% more power to the left gauntlet.” 

“You got it.”

-

Scott and Hope come to New York for a visit the next weekend and it’s as good a reason as any to get everybody together. Wanda cooks something that smells vaguely eastern european, and Peter makes a playlist that the rest of them hate, and Happy buys way too much beer, so, you know. It’s pretty standard.

“So what’s new around here?” Scott says cheerfully. “I feel like it’s kind of lame being in California all by ourselves. What if there’s some kind of west coast-based supervillain?”

“Is there?” Rhodey asks.

“I mean, not that we know of,” Scott says. “But do you ever think we should have, like, a second headquarters?”

“Do you not think we can handle something that might come up?” Hope asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Oh, no, I mean, of course we could,” Scott says quickly. “You could handle it alone, probably, who needs me, I’m backup at best, but like, these are the Avengers.”

“You’re an Avenger too,” Peter points out. “Maybe you could consider yourself our field office.”

“Does that mean Cap is still my boss?”

“Cap’s everybody’s boss,” Peter says. 

“Not mine,” Sam says. “I’m an independent contractor.”

Steve, who is sitting as far from Tony as he can get while still being at the same table, says, “I’m not anybody’s boss. I’m more like a supervisor.”

“Okay, but in this metaphor, who do I go to if the copier breaks?”

“I think I’m probably as close as we get to IT,” Tony says. “Which, wow, lucky for you all, have you ever seen an IT guy who looks like this?”

“Here we go,” Rhodey says. 

Steve pushes back from the table and heads to the bar. Nobody notices - they’re too busy trying to convince Bruce he’d have made a good accountant in a past life - and Tony quickly stands up too, leaves the rest of them arguing workplace semantics and follows him.

Tony catches up just as Steve’s pouring himself a drink that looks pretty strong considering he can’t get drunk. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” Steve says. “I’m good.”

“Okay, good,” Tony says. “Because, look, don’t take this the wrong way, you don’t _seem_ good.”

“No, I’m good,” Steve says. “Are you good?”

“Sure,” Tony says. “I’m good. Why are we saying good so much? I feel like we’re saying good too much, do _you_ think we’re - ”

“And Nicola Blake - is _she_ good?”

Tony pauses. “Excuse me?”

For the first time, Steve looks at him. “Seems like she was pretty good the other day,” he says, so casually that if Tony didn’t know him so well he’d miss it, but it turns out he _does_ know Steve, so he knows it isn’t actually casual at all.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Tony says.

Steve looks at him impassively. “I can’t ask a question?”

“It didn’t sound like a question you were interested in the answer to,” Tony says. 

“Really?” Steve says, his eyebrows shooting up. “What did it sound like?”

“It sounded like you being a judgmental asshole, actually.” 

Steve rears back like Tony’s taken a swing at him. “Jesus, Tony, you are unbelievable - ”

“Hey, guys?” Scott says, poking his head around the corner. “Uh, just so you know, you’re being kind of loud.”

Steve turns slowly, his glass still clenched in his hands. “Sorry, Scott. We’ll watch it.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Tony says, and Scott looks between them and then backs away, because Scott Lang may be a lot of things but he’s not a _complete_ idiot.

“Hey,” Tony says, because now that anger isn’t burning bright in his chest he feels sick, like maybe he’s made a mistake, maybe he’s made a _huge_ mistake, “listen - ”

“Forget it,” Steve says, and he presses his drink into Tony’s hands and walks away.

-

They don’t talk for three weeks, not that Tony’s counting.

-

Eight robot arms is a _lot_ of robot arms, Tony thinks irritably as yet _another_ robot arm makes grabby hands at his armor. “Spiderman, any guesses on vulnerabilities?”

“Uh, I don’t know, maybe he had a bad relationship with his father?” Peter says, wrapping up a clawed arm in webbing. 

Tony rolls his eyes. “Probably a safe bet, but I was talking about his suit. Joints seem like a good place to start, should we go for joints? Try ripping directly from where they meet the backpack part, maybe - ”

“Oh, yeah!” Peter says enthusiastically, and Tony loves Peter to bits but sometimes he really wonders how this kid hasn’t gotten killed yet, that radioactive spider must have been _really_ glowing because, you know, wow. 

Tony hits the air as the guy slams a tentacle into the street. Asphalt flies, and a few spectators run away screaming, clutching their phones in their hands. “I said to back away!” Tony yells at them, shooting a rocket at the tentacle. “Seriously, people in New York are crazy, if we’re not careful, photobombing the Avengers is going to become a huge meme - ”

“Good thing the police are on their way,” Steve says through the team’s comm line. “I have them setting a cordon a block in every direction. Think I can sneak up on this guy from behind?”

“He’s got eight freewheeling tentacles and might be a mutant, what do _you_ think?” Tony says.

“Worth a shot,” Steve says, and Tony hears his motorcycle rev as he comes into view two blocks away. 

Sneaking up on the guy doesn’t go super well, and Tony is extra glad he made Steve a new shield because otherwise he would have been looking at a face full of tentacle, but three against one are tough odds even for enhanced mutant maniacs and it’s not long before they’re stuffing the guy and his remaining tentacles into the back of a police van. 

Tony’s finally setting the last flipped Prius right side up when he sees Steve slam the door to the van shut and head back toward his bike.

“Cap,” he calls out, and Steve looks around. 

“Hey,” he says. “Need something?”

Tony jogs toward him. “Nah, Spidey’s got the rest of clean up covered. Benefit of having junior team members, right? They talk to the cops.”

“Better him than me,” Steve says agreeably. He’s not in uniform, just jeans and a t-shirt that have, somehow, stayed perfectly untouched despite the mutant octopus fight, and he’s got the shield on his arm and he looks - well, it’s not relevant, really, Tony decides, no reason to wander down that path, am I right?

Tony shakes it off and flips the faceplace up. “Thanks for coming.”

“I wasn’t going to ignore an all-call.”

“You could have,” Tony says. “You have some experience ignoring things. And people.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “Tony - ”

“No, hey, that was a shitty opening move, my bad. Can I start over?”

Steve raises an eyebrow as if to say, _You’re welcome to try._

“Tough crowd. Look, I just want to say, it wasn’t anything, all right? With Nicola, I mean,” Tony says, and damn, when did he stop being smooth? He was famous for it, there were articles in Esquire about his legendary smoothness, for chrissakes. “It was - stupid, and I didn’t think, with you, you’d said - it wasn’t a thing, is what I’m saying. It’s not a thing. There is no thing.”

“Okay,” Steve says. He is face is unhelpfully blank. 

“Okay,” Tony says. “That’s it. That’s all I wanted to say.”

They stand side by side, watching Peter give the official statement. Someone coming out of a nearby Starbucks takes a picture of them. A taxi honks at a pedestrian staring at a tentacle-induced hole in the road. New York keeps moving.

And then Tony thinks _what the hell_. “Let me take you to dinner. It’s my turn, right?”

“Dinner,” Steve says flatly, like he’s suspicious of the very concept.

“Yup. Tonight. I’ll pick you up?”

“You don’t need to pick me up.”

“I know, but I kind of want to,” Tony says. “Come on. I’m being nice. Just let me do the thing.”

Steve snorts. “Okay. Dinner.”

It’s not the most enthusiastic response to a dinner invite that Tony’s ever heard, but he’ll take it. “Great. 8 o’clock. See you then?”

“Sure, Tony,” Steve says, and to Tony’s intense irritation he sounds _amused_. 

-

It’s not a date, so Tony wears a Guns ‘N’ Roses t-shirt and jeans and then agonizes over that decision all the way to Brooklyn, but it’s not like he’s _nervous_. It’s just dinner between two friends. Two friends who maybe, sort of, if Tony is reading the signals right, have a thing for each other. So, you know. Casual.

Tony raps his fingers on the wheel of the Audi and wonders if he should have parked the car and gone to Steve’s front door instead of texting him. Would that have been better? But ugh, then Barnes might have been there, and dealing with himself and Steve and this whole _thing_ is already more than enough to deal with before adding Bucky fucking Barnes into the situation so yeah, no, this was definitely the right call.

The front door opens and Steve steps out and _holy shit_ he looks good, and Tony clenches the steering wheel and blows out a breath because this has _got_ to be a date, there’s no way Steve would walk around looking like that if he didn’t want this to be a date, that would be _cruel_. 

“Hi,” Tony says when Steve opens the door.

“Hey,” Steve says. “So where are - ”

He cuts himself off and frowns.

“What?” Tony says.

“Did you hear that?”

“No supersoldier hearing over here, Stars and Stripes, what - ”

“Somebody screamed,” Steve says, and slams the car door shut again.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Tony murmurs. 

He grabs his nanotech jacket from the backseat - he wasn’t planning on wearing it, but duty calls - and by the time the suit’s in place Steve’s two blocks away, so Tony fires up the repulsors and follows him. He can hear the screaming now too, and he catches up with Steve as he pulls a sharp left into an alley. 

There’s a woman holding her purse out in front of her like a shield. She’s backed up against a dumpster, and a man is pointing a knife at her. When Steve calls out, “Drop it!” they both look up, startled.

“God, what are the odds, you try to pull off a quiet mugging and Iron Man and Captain America show up,” Tony says, holding out his hand repulsor first. “Is there no peace in New York for criminals these days?”

“Oh, shit,” the man says.

It’s kind of funny, actually, once it becomes clear that nobody’s been injured and the danger has passed; the guy’s knife is tiny, and Steve and Tony are sort of embarrassingly overpowered in comparison, who brings a knife to an Avengers fight? The police show up eventually, and after a lot of grateful hugs from the woman and selfies with the cops, they finally make it back to Tony’s car, which has not one but three parking tickets on it.

“Did we miss a reservation?” Steve asks apologetically.

“We missed four, actually,” Tony says. “I didn’t know what you would want, I had a few options going, don’t worry about it, what’s good around here?”

They end up with street tacos on a bench at Brooklyn Bridge Park that smells faintly of piss. If it’s a date, it’s quite possibly the least successful of Tony’s life, and that includes the one where he took out the governor’s daughter and ended up getting them both arrested at the Canadian border (ah, to be eighteen again).

But Steve doesn’t seem to notice: he’s digging into his sixth taco and talking about some vacation him and Wanda went on to Ohio (Ohio! On vacation! Who _is_ this guy, even?) and when he looks over and sees Tony staring at him he says, “What?”

“Nothing,” Tony says. “You’re talking more than usual.”

Steve shrugs, stuffs another bite of taco in his mouth. “That fight back there felt like the kind of thing I used to get into growing up. Except I won.”

“Once an adrenaline junkie, always an adrenaline junkie.”

“Takes one to know one,” Steve says. He leans back on the bench and looks up at the skyline. “This is nice.”

Tony snorts. “Nice? Nice would have been the bottle of wine I have on hold for us at Le Bernardin.”

“I think I might like this better.”

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste.”

Steve elbows him. “You like this too.”

“I’m just being polite,” Tony says, but Steve’s smirk shows that he knows it’s a lie so Tony gives in. “All right, all right, I missed this. “New York, I mean. Pennsylvania’s nice, but it’s not - ”

“It’s not New York,” Steve says. 

Tony nods. “I missed you guys, too. The team.”

“I’m sorry we never came to see you.”

“Well, I never invited you, so.”

There’s nothing else to say about that, so they don’t try. Tony glances at Steve and then away, back to the skyline. The silence should be awkward, but it’s - not, actually, and on the bench, the back of Steve’s hand brushes his; his little finger rests on top of Tony’s, not pinning it, just resting there. Tony waits for him to murmur an apology, move away, and when he doesn’t, Tony realizes he’s holding his breath. 

Suddenly he feels out of place. The old feeling rises up inside him, familiar and well-worn in the time since the Blip, like the version of him sitting here can’t possibly be the real one. He’s a replacement, obviously, a photocopy, because the real Tony Stark isn’t the kind of guy who sits too close to Steve Rogers on a bench in Brooklyn, hoping against hope that he isn’t trying to hold his hand but also kind of hoping that he is - 

Tony snatches his hand away and pulls out his phone. “Work,” he lies, and the moment is over, and for the whole drive back to Manhattan Tony wishes it wasn’t.

-

“If I tell you something, do you promise not to give me a hard time about it?”

It’s an inauspicious opening, and it shows on Bruce’s face. “How dangerous is it?”

“Very, but not in the way you’re thinking.”

“I’m confused, and also concerned,” Bruce says.

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Tony says. “Okay. I’m just gonna say it. I think I have a crush on Cap.”

Bruce stares at him. “Cap? As in… Captain… America?”

“Do we know another Cap?”

“I don’t know how many Caps you know,” Bruce says. “Okay, so you have a crush on Steve. Is that it?”

“I mean, it’s maybe a thing,” Tony says. “Like a two-way thing. Possibly. I think probably, actually.”

“So it’s like a thing-thing.”

“Maybe.”

“Huh.” Bruce nods thoughtfully. “Okay. Well, that’s cool.”

“You’re not surprised?” Tony says. 

“Not really,” Bruce says.

“Really? Because I’m surprised. I’m extremely surprised, actually.” 

Bruce shrugs. “I’ve never really thought about it, but it checks out. What’s that phrase? It’s a thin line between love and hate?

“We’re not in love,” Tony says. “We’re just…”

“Sleeping together?” Bruce says.

“Not even that!” Tony says. “We’re - we went on what was maybe a date. Maybe two dates, I’m not totally sure, the second one involved more muggings than the term usually implies. Also I think he tried to hold my hand but I got weird about it.”

“Jeez,” Bruce says. “Are you guys teenagers or something?”

“I hate you, but maybe,” Tony says. “We haven’t even kissed! I don’t even know if he wants to kiss me. I mean, at first I was like, I’m definitely misinterpreting this, because he’s always been straight, or whatever, and even if he’s not it’s _me_, so, like, no way, right?”

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

“And then a few weeks ago I slept with this woman, Nicola Blake, you probably saw her in that Leo DiCaprio movie - ”

“Your life is so weird.”

“ - and Cap found out, and I think he was upset, but now he’s not anymore, and honestly, Bruce, it’s complicated.”

“I can imagine,” Bruce says. “Have you considered talking to him about it? I mean, I’m no relationship expert, but - ”

“Yeah, it’s pretty obvious advice,” Tony says. “It’s just - what do I say? _Super glad we don’t hate each other these days, would you wanna make out sometime?_”

__

“Um, maybe? I might skip the reminder about how you used to hate each other, but other than that - ”  


“And what happens if I’m misreading it?”

“You said he tried to hold your hand?” Bruce says. “I feel like that’s not super ambiguous. Wow, are you and Steve dating? This is crazy!”

“We’ve literally been talking about it for like five minutes!”

“I know, but I think it’s just hitting me,” Bruce says. 

-

There’s a rally in Washington Square Park and, in an entirely-unsurprising turn of events, J Jonah Jameson is scheduled to speak. It’s pretty standard stuff - there aren’t enough support services for people who Blipped, they deserve better than a world that left them behind, et cetera et cetera - and Tony follows it via Friday from his workshop, so he sees the first Insta-story of somebody throwing a bottle at counter-protestors. 

Tony raps his fingers on the table. “Hey, Friday, call Steve, will you?” 

“You got it,” Friday says. 

“You’re not there, are you?” he says as soon as the call connects.

“I’m in Brooklyn,” Steve says tensely. “But I think I’m going to - ”

“Don’t,” Tony says.

“Just in case things get out of hand.”

“It’s a squeaky wheel,” Tony says. “A vocal minority. You don’t have to take it all on, you know.”

“I’m not taking it all on,” Steve says evenly. “Just helping to keep the peace.”

“You know, some of us kinda like your face the way it is,” Tony says. “We’d prefer it didn’t get trashed again by a bunch of assholes with inferiority complexes.”

Steve is silent. On the screen showing up-to-the-minute footage, the yelling gets louder. 

“I don’t know what else we can do,” Steve says, finally. 

“Just our best,” Tony says. “Stay home tonight, Cap.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and he sounds tired. “All right.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” Tony says. “Or, you know. Whenever.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I’d like that. Night, Tony.”

“Night,” Tony says, and hangs up.

-

Tony still has plenty of bad days, and some of the worst are the ones when Morgan leaves.

Today’s one of those. They get up early and have breakfast at a diner Morgan loves on 64th and walk back through the park. When they get back to the penthouse Happy’s there, gathering up Morgan’s schoolbooks and folders and loading them into her backpack, which Tony _hates_ because it means she has to leave.

“Welcome home, boss,” Friday says. “You’ve got one outstanding alert since you left.”

“Lay it on me.”

“Captain Rogers is in the building.”

“You have an alert set up for when he’s here?” Happy says, raising his eyebrows.

“Is this you judging me? I feel like you’re judging me.”  


“Nobody’s judging,” says Happy, the big lying liar.

“Cap’s here?” Morgan screeches. “Friday, tell him to come see me! I have a drawing for him!”  


“Honey, hang on,” Tony says quickly. “He’s probably busy. In fact, he might be working - ”

“Captain Rogers is on his way,” Friday interrupts smoothly.

“Maybe he has an alert set up for _you_,” Happy murmurs, handing Tony Morgan’s backpack.

“Shut up,” Tony mutters.

“Cap!” Morgan calls when Steve steps out of the elevator. “I drew a tiger at school the other day, do you want to see?”

“I’d love to,” Steve says. “Hey, Happy. Tony.”

“Hi,” Tony says. “We have to leave, actually.”

“I’m going back to my other house,” Morgan explains. “But look!” 

“This is awesome.” Steve inspects the drawing as closely as if it were a prized work of art. “Looks like you used every color in the box.”

“I did pretty much,” Morgan says. “Want to drive to Pennsylvania with us?”

“Kiddo, Cap’s busy, it’s a long drive, he doesn’t have time to - ”

“I’d be happy to,” Steve says. “It might be nice to get out of the city, in fact. If I’m invited, that is.”

“Let’s go then!” Morgan says. 

“You can definitely bail on this,” Tony says as Morgan dashes to the elevator.

“You know, this might surprise you,” Steve says, leaning in close to Tony, “but I actually kind of like hanging out with you.”

And then he winks, the son of a bitch. God, he should be _illegal_.

-

Morgan asks Steve a million questions during the drive out of the city, everything from where he grew up to what kind of pizza he likes to how old he is. “I’m 40,” Steve says.

“That’s old,” Morgan says.

“You have no idea,” Tony says, and Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Not as old as you though, Dad,” Morgan adds cheerfully, which shuts Tony up quick.

By the time they pull up to the cabin in Pennsylvania, they’ve learned that Steve went to P.S. 3, that his best friend’s name is Sam, and that his favorite color is (shocker) blue, same as Morgan’s. “Wanna come see my dollhouse?” Morgan asks as she clambers out of her booster seat. “Me and Daddy built it together and it has an elevator Friday operates just like at the tower.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Steve says, and turns to Tony. “Should I - ”

“Of course, go ahead,” Tony says, and Steve follows her into the house.

Pepper gives Morgan a hug in the doorway and laughs as she climbs up the stairs telling Steve all about how she wants to build her dolls a swimming pool but Mommy says it’s not practical. “So,” Pepper says while Tony shuffles into the house with Morgan’s bags, “not that it’s a problem, but why is Captain America playing with our daughter’s dollhouse?”

“Morgan asked if he could come along, and she’s impossible to say no to,” Tony explains. “He likes her.”

“She likes him too, clearly.” From upstairs, they hear Morgan giggle. Pepper turns to Tony. “So, is this a thing? You and Steve?”

“Jesus,” Tony says with a wince.

“You’re the one who brought him along!”  


“It’s not - I don’t know. I don’t know, okay?”

“Tony, it’s fine,” Pepper says. Her mouth twists a little, like it always used to when she was trying not to smile. “It’s kind of funny, is all. After everything - ”

“I know.”

“But it makes sense, too. There aren’t a lot of people who know it’s like. Being - being one of you.”

_You used to_, Tony thinks and doesn’t say, but Pepper seems to hear it anyway.

“Just be careful,” Pepper continues, softly. “I know it’s not my place to say, but - ”

“It’s definitely your place, it’s nobody else’s place, actually.”

Pepper smiles fondly. “It was ugly between you two once. I don’t want you to get hurt like that again.”

“Pep.”

“I’ll butt out now.”

“Never.”

It’s a little awkward when Steve comes back downstairs; he looks between them like he knows something happened but isn’t sure he wants to know what it is. There’s a big round of goodbye hugs and kisses from Morgan, and Pepper hugs Tony, and then Pepper turns to Steve and hugs him too, and it’s - god, it’s so awkward, but it’s okay too, and Tony’s doesn’t feel great when they get back in the Audi but he feels better than he usually does when he leaves Morgan behind so that’s something.

The sun starts going down during the drive through Pennsylvania, and Tony rolls all the windows down to let in the crisp fall air. “Thanks for bringing me along,” Steve says. “I know you don’t get as much time with her as you’d like.”

“Nope,” Tony agrees. “I see her more than my dad saw me, though, so I guess I could be doing worse.”

“Everything okay with Pepper?”

“Pepper’s always liked you,” Tony side-steps.

Steve snorts. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Tony glances at him. He’s looking out the window, the wind ruffling his hair, sunglasses on. Steve is like a river - calm on the surface, but with depths beneath that you can’t necessarily see until you dive in, and Tony - Tony thinks he wants to jump.

Steve must feel him looking. He looks over at him and says, “What?”

“Nothing,” Tony says. 

Steve smirks. “Eyes on the road, Stark.”

They get dinner on the road, and it’s late when they pull into the garage at the tower. They’ve been quiet for the past 30 minutes, winding through evening traffic in Manhattan, and Tony is almost afraid to break the silence as he cuts the engine. “So.”

“So,” Steve says.

They look at each other. The mood in the car goes taut, like a finely-tuned bowstring. Tony swallows. “I don’t know if you want to, uh…”

He trails off, because Steve’s staring at him, and Tony barely has time to think, _oh, shit_ before Steve leans in. When he’s just a hair’s breadth away he pauses, and Tony thinks that if he’s gonna call it off he has to do it now, right now, because he’s not gonna get another chance - 

But instead he kisses him.

The way Steve’s mouth opens for him is a surprise and a long time coming all at once; a contradiction, just like the two of them. It seems impossible that everything between them could have led to this moment, kissing like teenagers across Tony’s gear shift, and Steve must be thinking it too because he laughs against Tony’s lips, a low, quiet laugh that Tony’s never been allowed to hear before.

“Hey,” Steve murmurs, and kisses him again, quickly, like he can’t help himself.

“Hey,” Tony says. “Do you want to come upstairs for a drink?”

Steve tilts his head like he’s considering it carefully. “On the one hand I do, but on the other hand I _really_ don’t want to fall for a classic Tony Stark line.”

“Okay, how about, do you want to come upstairs, skip the drink and go straight to bed? Promise I haven’t used that one before.”

Steve grins. “In that case, I’m game.”

-

Tony would have guessed it would be weird sleeping with a guy you’ve known for years, a guy you’ve punched in the face (repeatedly), a guy you never thought would sleep with guys at all and especially not with you, but Tony can admit when he’s wrong and he’s _wrong_. 

It’s not even remotely weird, Tony thinks as he pushes Steve onto his bed. There’s a lot to look at - not that Tony hasn’t seen it before because hell, he makes the guy’s uniform, he knows _exactly_ how broad those shoulders are - but looking at him like this is different and the only part of it that’s actually surprising is how much Tony actually just wants to look at his face. Because Steve looks so _happy_: he grins when Tony runs his hands up Steve’s abs, he chuckles when Tony sucks a bruise into the spot where his jaw meets his throat, he gasps with wide-eyed pleasure when Tony finally gets a hand down his pants. Tony’s seen Steve a lot of ways but never like this, and Tony wants to savor every second because people don’t tend to be this blissfully happy in Tony’s presence for long.

“What do you want?” Tony murmurs in his ear, and Steve says, “_You_,” and Tony can’t exactly be surprised that Steve’s not a huge dirty talker but he was hoping for a _little_ more in the way of direction. Luckily for everyone, Tony doesn’t mind taking the initiative, he thinks as he slides down Steve’s body, stopping only to press a kiss against his ribs and taste the skin of his thigh. 

“Yeah?” Tony says. “Me, huh?” 

“_Tony_,” Steve groans, and the way he looks down at Tony makes Tony feel like he just hit altitude. It’s a _lot_, that voice and those eyes and that smile, and Tony hasn’t earned any of it so he gets to work trying to. Tony tends to keep his eyes open during sex, he’s a visual guy, he likes to watch, and he doesn’t think there’s anything in the world right now that would make him close his eyes to Steve, sweat gathering at his temple, head thrown back, biting his lip to stay quiet, and Steve is the most controlled person Tony has ever known and god, all Tony wants is make him _lose it_ \- 

“Hey,” Steve gasps, and he pulls on Tony’s hair. “C’mere, I need - ”

“Anything,” Tony blurts out, which is just a _touch_ too honest for his liking, so he nips at Steve, captures the other man’s lower lip between his teeth as if to punish him for forcing that from Tony’s mouth. “Anything, what do you - ”

Steve cups Tony’s cheek and holds him in place. “I just want - ”

“What? Come on, Steve, tell me - ”

“_Tony_,” Steve says, and wraps one big hand around both of them. They’re slick with Tony’s spit and Steve’s precome, and Tony arches forward, meets Steve on every thrust. Steve keeps their mouths pressed together like he can’t breathe without Tony’s lips, takes Tony apart with his tongue, and when he comes he _laughs, _and Tony can’t help but follow him. 

In the middle of the night, Tony wakes up with a start and rolls over, suddenly anxious, but Steve is still there, his back slowly rising and falling in the dim light. Tony doesn’t mean to stay awake watching him, because that’s weird and lame, but he must forget to stop because eventually Steve stirs and opens his eyes. “What?” he says, blinking sleepily up at Tony.

“I was just thinking,” Tony says. “I guess it was a date after all.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “Of course it was, you idiot.” 

And Tony wants to argue, but Steve wraps an arm around Tony’s waist and pulls him close and Tony decides he doesn’t really mind at all.

-

It’s dumb, Tony thinks as he sits around the big conference table in between Peter and Wanda, it’s _really_ dumb, but he kind of thought Steve would show up early.

They haven’t seen each other in the three days since Steve kissed him goodbye the morning after that first night, and it’s not that Tony _misses_ him, it’s three days, that’s _nothing_. And anyway they’ve texted, and Steve sent him that meme that’s going around with the elephant and the banana (which, for the record, it’s adorable that Steve thinks he might be far enough ahead of the meme game to be the first to send it to Tony, bless his elderly little heart.) 

So there’s nothing_ wrong_, clearly, it’s just that he thought that _maybe_ Steve would come by before the team meeting, maybe swing by the workshop, walk up to the conference room together. You know. Just to say hi.

But Steve’s actually _late_ by the time he slides into his seat at the head of the table with Barnes on his heels. Nebula, on holo from Knowhere, is describing some race of aliens who are claiming they’ve found a way to travel through time. Their methods aren’t anything like the quantum machine’s, and Tony hasn’t heard of half the technology they’re talking about but if he’s understanding correctly (which he definitely is, he’s a genius) they’re full of shit and nothing to worry about.

“You really think you’re the only person in the whole galaxy smart enough to invent time travel, Stark?” Nebula says when he shares this perspective.

“Nah, just the only one smart enough so _far_,” Tony says, and they all roll their eyes. “Look, for all we know there are people time traveling all over the place and we don’t have any idea.”

“That’s… a little nerve-wracking,” Peter says. 

Tony shrugs. “Can’t change the past, remember? So they’re creating infinite alternate universes. We’ll worry about it when it starts impacting us.”

“That’s very hands-off of you,” Wanda says.

Tony shrugs. “Can’t change what we can’t change. Believe me. I’ve tried.”

Everyone shifts in their seats. 

“Well, I think that’s it,” Steve says an hour later. “Pizza’s up in the penthouse if you’re staying for dinner. Tony, can you stay back for a minute?”

“Ooh, you’re in trouble,” Peter teases. Tony arches an eyebrow as the rest of the team filters out. Is Steve actually about to _lecture _him for something? He honestly can’t think what it could be; did he send an inappropriate gif to their group chat? He doesn’t remember doing anything that could - 

And that’s when Steve shuts the door behind Sam, crosses the room, hauls Tony up by his t-shirt and kisses him.

“Oh,” Tony says, “is that all?”

“Couldn’t wait any longer,” Steve breathes. He presses Tony up against the wall and kisses him like it’s urgent, like it’s all he’s been thinking about since they last saw each other, not that Tony would flatter himself to think that’s true. 

“So,” Tony says between kisses, “as much as I would - mm - very much like to defile our conference room, don’t you think the Power Rangers out there will be wondering where we are?”

“They’ll probably assume I’m yelling at you.”

“I could make you yell if you want,” Tony says slyly.

Steve chuckles, presses his forehead to Tony’s. “You’re right.”

“It’s fine, you can stay over afterwards,” Tony says, and then hurriedly finishes, “if you want, I mean.”

Steve presses a rueful kiss to Tony’s lower lip. “I would, but I drove over with Bucky.”

“Oh,” Tony says. “So does he not - you haven’t told him.”

“I didn’t think we were, you know,” Steve says. “Telling people.”

“I’m not taking out a Times Square billboard or anything but I just assumed, he’s your best friend and all - ”

“Well, I didn’t,” Steve says, and takes a step back, leaving Tony slumped against the wall with a sense of whiplash.

There’s an awkward silence. “Okay,” Tony says. “That’s fine. I just - so you’re not staying, after dinner?”

“Not tonight,” Steve says. “I want to, I just - I didn’t think about it, I guess. Sorry.”  


“Nothing to be sorry about,” Tony says, and grins to prove it. “Pizza?”

-

“Are you watching this?” Bruce says, bursting into the workshop with all the grace that you would expect from a 600-pound green rage monster wearing glasses and a loose-knit cardigan. 

Tony, who is clearly currently making sweet sweet love to the Mark LIV, raises his eyebrows. “Nope.”

Bruce pulls a holo-screen up from his tablet with more force than Tony is used to seeing from the recently gentle giant. “This was just uploaded on J. Jonah Jameson’s site.”

“Ugh, no, why, I don’t want to give that guy views,” Tony says, batting a hand out to close the screen, but Bruce holds the tablet out of reach.

“ - even know who Tony Stark is?” Jameson’s saying. “He _says_ he just wants to save the world, but what else is behind the mask?”

“Well, I think it’s important to really dig into what motivates people,” says the man across from him, a dark-haired guy with a chyron along the bottom pops up that identifies him as Quentin Beck, former Stark Industries employee. “And that means getting past the obvious and really asking ourselves - who _is_ Tony Stark?”

“Any chance you remember what you did to piss this guy off?” Bruce asks hopefully.

“Could be so many things,” Tony says. “I was an asshole for a long time. I’m still an asshole, actually.”

“That’s what I figured,” Bruce sighs. 

“For example,” Beck’s saying on screen, “who was the top contractor leading the clean up after the battle of New York? Stark Industries. Who had early notice that half the world was coming back, enough to put all his consumer facing businesses back to work so they were first to market with all kinds of post-Blip tech? Stark Industries.”

“Sure, but you could argue that with a company as large and diverse as Stark Industries, they have their hands in a lot of pies,” Jameson says, sounding very much like he has no intention of arguing that at all and only brings it up for the sake of a straw man.

“You could argue that, but I think you’ll find that Tony Stark has managed to build a company that is _uniquely _suited for dealing with the dangers of today’s world,” the man says. “The dangers he _swears_ he wants to protect us from. Could that _really_ be a coincidence?”

“So what are you saying?” Jameson says. “Are you saying Tony Stark might not be the hero we’ve all been trained to think he is?”

“I think we can agree that by all accounts Tony Stark is profiting from the misery and suffering of the American people,” Beck says. “And we know that he’s managed to collect a group of people who are powerful, and often dangerous. The world is a chaotic place, and the Avengers are fully funded by a man who is making money off that chaos.”

“Be straight with me. Are you accusing Tony Stark of anything?”

“Not at all,” Beck says smoothly. “But I do think there’s room to ask a few questions.”

“I think many of us would agree,” Jameson says. “I’ve talked before on my show about how Tony Stark and the Avengers have their own private relationship with the very aliens the rest of us are allowed to know very little about.” 

“Exactly,” Beck says. “Look, Jonah, I think anybody who knows Tony Stark knows he’s a genius. He’s one of the greatest minds of our age, and frankly he’s capable of things most of us can’t even imagine. But… given that we can’t imagine all of it, I think it would be healthy for all of us if we spent a little more time questioning the things he tells us, the things he says we see with our own eyes. Every time the world needs saving, the Avengers get a little more powerful, a little more untouchable. But Jonah, the thing is, I don’t remember the world needing that much saving before Tony Stark decided he was the one who wanted to save it.”

“That’s a bold statement, Dr. Beck,” Jameson says. 

“Well, Jonah, I‘m not the only one thinking it,” Beck says. “In fact, I’m announcing exclusively, just for your viewers, that the Department of Justice is about to announce that they have opened up an investigation into Tony Stark’s involvement in the Blip. And frankly, Jonah, I think a lot of people are going to be very surprised by what they find.”

The screen goes black.

After a silence, Bruce says, “So anyway, I’m guessing you’re going to get a call from your PR team.”

“I fired that guy,” Tony says. “I can’t remember why, but I definitely fired that guy, and for good reason, clearly. This is a _workplace grievance_.”

“So SI releases his personnel file and we let that play out. The DOJ has nothing. It’s not like it’s the first time somebody with a grudge has gone after you.”

Tony snorts. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“It’ll blow over by tomorrow,” Bruce says. He claps Tony on the shoulder. “Stay off Twitter tonight, yeah?”

“Whatever.”

Bruce nods, lumbers toward the door. 

“The thing is,” Tony says, “he’s kind of right.”

“Tony,” Bruce says. 

“I’m serious,” Tony says. “Not about the money - I mean I am making money off it, maybe I should stop making money off it, is making money off recovery as bad as making money off weapons? I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it - but I mean about it all starting with me. If it hadn’t been for me, most of the terrible stuff that’s happened wouldn’t have happened.” 

“That’s not true,” Bruce says. “Thor and Loki - ”

“Okay, sure, maybe, but I drew a hell of a lot of attention to myself,” Tony says. “I drew a lot of attention to all of us. And Thanos - ”

“Thanos was a megalomaniac who would have done what he did no matter what,” Bruce says.

“But maybe he wouldn’t have been able to if it weren’t for me,” Tony says. “If it weren’t for me, maybe three of the Infinity Stones would have been a little harder find.”

“We _stopped _him,” Bruce says fiercely. “And we couldn’t have done that without you.”

“You wouldn’t have had to without me,” Tony says.

“Come on, Tony,” Bruce says. “Don’t let this disgruntled douchebag get in your head.”

“Do you really think everything would have gone down the way it did if I’d died in Afghanistan?” Tony says.

Bruce stares at him. “I don’t know. There’s no way to - ”

“Exactly,” Tony says. He turns back to the Mark LIV. “Got work to do. Catch you on the flip, Jolly Green.”

There’s a long silence, and then a sigh, and the door closes behind Bruce without another word.

-

As predicted, Tony’s phone starts ringing.

It’s Rhodey, and then it’s the head of Legal, and then it’s Pepper, and then it’s the entire PR firm he keeps on 24-hour retainer for moments exactly like this, and then it’s Rhodey again. 

Tony lets them all go to voicemail.

The worst part of it, though, is that like a teenager hanging around at home on a Friday night, he _wants_ it to keep ringing. But he only wants one name to pop up. 

He wants more than a call, actually. He wants Steve to be here right now. Even though there’s nothing Steve could do, really, except just stand next to him, wrap an arm around him, maybe, if things are like that with them, not that Tony’s entirely sure they are. He wants it so bad, and that makes him angry, makes him _furious_, because wanting that from Steve, of all people, is a liability and a distraction and god, it’s an embarrassment. 

Especially if Steve doesn’t want it too. Which, considering he hasn’t called, probably means he doesn’t. 

Tony turns off his phone and shoves it in a drawer. He has more important things to worry about than what Steve wants. Much more important things.

-

Tony would like the record to reflect that what he’s been building isn’t an all-knowing, all-seeing artificial intelligence. Been there, done that, created that superbot; he makes a lot of mistakes, sure, but he doesn’t make most of them twice. 

No, what Tony’s created is actually an artificial UNintelligence. It can’t so much as spell its own name (which is Dopey, for the record, no acronym, not his best work, he’ll get the marketing people on it eventually) without his explicit go ahead, but what it _can_ do is take all the data that exists pretty much everywhere (yes, even you, people who shared that Facebook post about not allowing Facebook to have your data) and spit out scenarios and probabilities. It doesn’t analyze them, doesn’t lay out any conjectures or think for itself, which is fine, because Tony is perfectly capable of doing all the thinking for it. 

And what Dopey has done _today_ is give Tony a list - based on known locations, geo-tracking, technological prowess, and a healthy dose of pure randomized speculation - of people who could plausibly be responsible for the elemental “monsters” that has everybody so riled up.

It’s 329,443 names long.

Tony sighs. “Dopey, you are not making me a proud papa right now.”

Dopey doesn’t reply, because Tony hasn’t given Dopey the ability to hold a conversation. His drives are all too busy copying every piece of data uploaded to the internet on a sixteen picosecond delay.

“...find that Tony Stark has managed to build a company that is _uniquely _suited for dealing with the dangers of today’s world,” Beck says in the background, where the video from Jameson’s site is playing on repeat, which even Tony can admit maybe isn’t the healthiest thing to do but look, give him a break, okay?

“Boss, you have an incoming call from - ”

“Friday, I told you, nothing gets through unless it’s Morgan or the world is ending, and the second one is only a maybe, use your judgement, I believe in you,” Tony interrupts. 

“Understood.”

Tony watches the three hundred thousand names scroll by and sighs. “Dopey, start cross-referencing every name on the list with known aliases, projected aliases, social media profiles, and favorite ice cream flavors. That last one was a joke, by the way, just because Rhodey likes mint chocolate chip doesn’t make him a maniac, you’re not worthy of my comedy.”

Dopey is, technically, outrageously illegal, but then so is flying a manned aircraft without the express authorized permission of the FAA, so, you know. It’s also _wrong_, says a voice in Tony’s head that sounds irritatingly like Steve’s, but attacking innocent people is significantly _more_ wrong and sure, “the ends justify the means” isn’t anyone’s _favorite_ rationale but desperate times, right?

He pulls up the video from Venice again, watches the water monster play out at half speed. It was fake; it _had_ to be fake. But what was it _for_? Attention, sure, these guys always wanted attention, but it never ended there. What was the goal? What did they _want_?

“Look, Jonah, I think anybody who knows Tony Stark knows he’s a genius,” Beck says, which is an obnoxious thing to say because it’s true, and -

Tony freezes.

“Friday, playback fifteen seconds.”

“Look, Jonah,” Beck says, “I think anybody who knows Tony Stark knows he’s a genius - ”

“Volume zero,” Tony says. He watches Beck talk silently, his mouth twisting around bitter syllables. “Hey Dopey. Can you do me a favor and filter the current list of potential targets by people I’ve personally met.”

_Anybody who knows…_

__

The list flashes on the screen.

It’s only one name long.

-

It’s the work of a few minutes to come up with a plan.

Then it’s the work of a few hours to get everything in place. There are photos to doctor and paparazzos to tip off and bellmen to bribe, but by the late afternoon Twitter is abuzz with a rumor that Tony Stark has just been ejected from the casino floor at Borgata in Atlantic City for being drunk and disorderly. Ten minutes later, some girl from exit 6 posts an Insta story featuring several blurry shots of a man who _might _be Tony Stark stumbling into the Opus Suite with a blonde on his arm. It’s a purpose-built trap, custom made for just one target, and sure, if he’s wrong about what happens next there’ll be some explaining to do to Pepper and Rhodey and, oof, Steve, if he cares, but his reputation can take the hit and anyway Tony doesn’t think he’s wrong.

So, of course, that means it’s only the work of a few seconds for absolutely everything to go wrong.

The elemental shows up right on schedule. The people milling around outside Borgata, waiting for Ubers and taking poorly-lit selfies, run screaming in every direction as the massive, terrifying fire creature stomps on a parked cab and drips molten lava everywhere. And, just like Tony knew he would, the guy in the helmet and cape swoops out from behind the Golden Nugget and starts fighting back. It’s all flashes of green light and electrical charges and impressive acrobatics for the crowds below. It’s a show, and Tony has to admit it’s a pretty good one as he steps off the edge of the hotel, flies up to the elemental monster in stealth mode, and shoots a scatter-burst rocket at it.

There’s a tiny flash and then… nothing. The elemental doesn’t react, doesn’t turn around, just keeps swinging at the helmeted man, but now he’s got a miniscule hole in his side.

Like a burned out pixel.

Tony snorts. “What, no backup projectors? That’s pretty weak, if you’d asked me to come on as a consultant I could have told you - ”

And that’s when the world goes dark.

It’s only for a second, until Friday automatically flips on night vision. It doesn’t help much, just gives him the outline of hundreds of tiny drones - of course it’s drones, fucking _drones_ \- and it takes him a second to realize that they’ve surrounded him. That’s why the sun’s been blocked out; the drones aren’t just in the sky anymore, they’re around _him_.

“Nice work,” Tony says through the speaker. “Light-blocking projections, that’s tough stuff. You should be proud, Beck.”

“I am,” Quentin Beck says, swooping into the sphere of black between his drones. “Very proud.”

“Too bad I’m gonna blow it all up.”

“Are you?” Beck says, hovering in midair a dozen yards from Tony. “You might want to re-think that.”

Tony pauses. He remembers this guy. Smart - _really_ smart. Ambitious. Always calculating what’s next. He doesn’t particularly want to play chess with Beck, but he has to admit he’s curious. “And why would I re-think that, exactly?”

“Because my drones are currently putting on a very interesting show for all of Atlantic City. It’s a show that lets you be the hero. Isn’t that what you want more than anything, Tony? To be a _hero_?”

“That’s pretty bold coming from a guy in a cape,” Tony says. “You got cocky, Beck. Going on Jameson’s show was too obvious, it led me right to you.”

“It did, didn’t it,” Beck says, so flatly that the hairs on the back of Tony’s neck stand up. “You know, it’s funny. I had all these plans for what I was going to say to you, but now that it’s here I just have one question: why’d you do it?”

Friday pulls up a heat map overlay. “Boss,” she says in his ear, “look at the - ”

“Why’d I do what?” Tony says. 

“Clearly you have access to some power the rest of us can only dream of,” Beck says. “Clearly, you could have set everything right - you could have taken everybody back to day one, before Thanos, before any of it. But you didn’t.”

Tony stares at the heat map. It’s all electrical, he realizes. It’s all _electrical_, it’s not - 

“Because you knew there’d be more money it, more glory in it for you if you didn’t,” Beck says.

“That’s what your angle is, huh?” Tony says.

“Sure is,” Beck says. “Why try to deny it? You and the rest of the Avengers talked all about it. You planned the whole thing. We have it on _video_, Tony.”

Tony flies backwards, toward the edge of the sphere of drones. “Uh, considering we never talked about that, that’s impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible these days, Tony,” Beck says, and chuckles. “You know who taught me that? _You_.”

There’s a _click_, and Beck disappears. 

Tony’s HUD goes dark, so it takes him a second to realize he’s falling. 

“Friday,” he says, but he doesn’t need her silence to know she won’t reply. It’s an EMP, intense and localized, and Tony has all kinds of defenses against exactly this type of attack but Beck’s a goddamn _Stark Industries engineer,_ it can’t be that surprising that he’d find a way to shut down even Iron Man.

Tony braces; he’s not that high up, but it’s still a shock when he hits the ground. The suit’s interior bracings hold and he’ll be sore tomorrow, but that’s not the worst of it: his system’s completely fried. And his backup systems and the armor’s hibernating nanobots, built for exactly this purpose to repair fuses on the go, take almost five minutes to get even partially back online; Beck will be gone by then. 

__

_No_, he thinks bitterly, Beck was never _here_; the whole thing was a projection. Beck’s projection mapping is even more advanced than Tony suspected; he knew once he realized who Beck was that what they were dealing with was a more advanced form of BARF, but this is some next level shit, a fully-realized and definitely-weaponized version of everything they’d been trying to do in 2016. It was horrifying. It was _incredible_.

And that means that just when Tony thought he was laying the bait, he was actually walking right into the trap. God, how could he have been so stupid? 

He pauses. Was that… what _was_ that? It sounded like a jet. But there was no way - 

Without warning, his facemask flipped up to reveal a very frowny Peter Parker.

“You okay, Mr. Stark?” he says.

“I really hope you didn’t break my mask with that superstrength, I _know_ your job at the library can’t pay to replace it,” Tony says.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Peter says into his earpiece.

“Where the hell did you come from?”

Peter points up, and Tony sees the Quinjet hovering above them. “I thought we were coming to fight an elemental, but now I feel like I have no idea what’s going on.”

“It’s a long story,” Tony says, and points at Peter’s ear. “Gimme.” 

Peter sighs but pops it out and hands it over, and Tony decides to give him a Maserati for his upcoming birthday.

“Hi, is this the Avengers hotline?” he says.

“What the hell is going on?” Steve snaps in his ear.

“Whatever you just saw, it wasn’t real.”

“What we saw was you fighting the elemental and then falling out of the sky when it disappeared.”

“That part was a little real,” Tony admits. “But the elemental’s not. It’s Quentin Beck, he’s got an army of invisible drones and this whole thing was a set up. But the drones have to be coming from somewhere, they’ll need a power core and an internal network and it can’t be too far away.”

“What are we looking for?” Steve says.

“Something big full of something small,” Tony says. “A truck, maybe an RV. They got here so fast, they must have some kind of mobile lab.”

“I have eyes on a semi heading east on highway 30,” Sam Wilson says in his ear. “And a pickup with a huge trailer just passing Harrah’s.”

“Track both,” Tony says. “I’m grounded for another couple of minutes but I’ll meet you in the sky when I can. I’ll have the local cops do a sweep of the grounds, maybe they’re still here. Cops are on their way over, Spidey, cover up.”

It’s frustrating as hell being stuck in a partially-functioning suit, and even moreso once his comms come back online and confirm what Tony had known, in the pit of his stomach, was true: that Beck was three steps ahead of him and long, long gone. 

Sam sets down beside him and stows his wings. “The semi was empty, and the trailer was moving some kid up to his dorm room at Villanova. Cops find anything?”

“They’re finishing up with the parking garage, but the Borgata security chief is opposed to room by room searches,” Tony says. “Apparently rousting people out of their Atlantic City hotel room on a Friday evening isn’t considered the utmost in hospitality.”

“They would have had time to pack up and get out by now anyway,” Sam says. “We’re lucky we made it as fast as we did.”

“How did you get here so fast, anyway?”

“We were training when Friday told us another elemental had shown up. Well, Parker and I were training. Cap was breaking punching bags,” Sam says, nodding in the direction of the jet overhead. “Speaking of, I think he’s about ready to head back to the city. You need a ride home, Spiderman?”

“Yeah, it’d be a pretty expensive Uber from here,” Peter says. “Mr. Stark, you coming?”

“I think I’ll walk,” Tony says as the Quinjet hovers above them.

“Just putting off the inevitable,” Sam says pointedly.

Tony sighs and shuts his faceplate. “I hate it when you’re right.”

Sam snorts. “You hate it when anybody besides you is right.”

The suit’s nanotech has done strong work, and by the time Tony lands in the open hatch of the hovering Quinjet, he’s at about 70% capacity. A fucking EMP; it’s so _basic_, he thinks irritably as the hatch closes behind Sam.

“Can you take over up here, Sam?” Steve says over the whir of the engines, and Sam unhooks his flight suit and slides into the co-pilot’s seat. They ascend rapidly, and Steve hangs on to the grab bar as he stalks down the Quinjet toward Tony. “What happened down there?” 

“Long story,” Tony says. “So, you know Quentin Beck? He - ”

“I know,” Steve says. “Friday filled us in.”

“Traitor,” Tony mutters.

“Captain Rogers has unrestricted access to your files,” Friday reminds him.

“It had to have taken you a while to set up this little stunt,” Steve snaps. “So why weren’t we read in?”

“Because this isn’t about you,” Tony says. “It’s about _me_.”

Steve’s jaw twitches. “We’re a team.”

  
“Yeah, and I’m an independent contractor,” Tony says. “I saw an opening and I went for it. Sometimes it’s a swing and a miss.”

“You had no idea what you were walking into, did you.”

“I thought I did and I was wrong,” Tony says shortly. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Not at - Tony, why didn’t you talk to me? To us?” 

“Look, once I realized the calls were coming from inside the house, I wanted to deal with it myself,” Tony says. “No reason for any of the rest of you to get mixed up with this, especially you, we need you to keep your nose clean, all right? This guy is my business, it’s my people, I don’t need you to see the dark underbelly of everything I’ve ever done.”

“Tony, because of your decision to go in alone, Beck got away. And it could have been even worse.”

“How could it have been - ”

“You could have gotten _killed_,” Steve snaps, and he reaches out like he’s going to grab Tony, or maybe hit him, but he stops himself just in time, and Tony wishes he knows which way that would’ve gone. “What the hell were you _thinking_?”

Steve’s eyes are bright, and Tony can tell by the way he’s holding himself tightly, all kinetic energy waiting to explode that he’s furious, and that - that’s not what Tony wants at all. 

A lot of people think Tony Stark can’t possibly want for anything. The rich boy, the genius, the guy who has fourteen cars and knows the President’s cell phone number and can _fly_, there’s nothing he knows about _wanting_.

But that’s the thing about Tony: Tony’s _all_ want. Some days he’s nothing else. It’s gotten him into trouble more times than he can count, because Tony’s never fucking _satisfied_. Over the course of his life Tony’s wanted freedom, and safety, and guarantees, and validation, and love, and more, more, always _more_.

And right at this moment what he wants is to go back and get it right with Beck, to take him _down_. He wants to go back further and get it all right with Thanos, years ago, so none of this ever happened in the first place. 

And as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he wants Steve. He wants to be able to tell Steve what he wants, and for Steve to listen to him and stay anyway.

But Tony doesn’t always want things for very long, and when he does, he tends to break them. This feeling, the tightness in his chest and the way his skin feels like it’s aching, it’s _dangerous_, because it means he’s going to break this too. 

“Friday,” he says out loud, ignoring Steve’s pained gaze, “we good to fly?”

“Repulsors and attitude control are stable.”

“Thanks, doll,” Tony says, and hits the button that opens the hatch.

“What are you doing?” Steve says.

“Nothing,” Tony says, and jumps out of the plane.

-

Tony’s barely had time to decide which direction to fly in when Friday says in his ear, “Incoming call from Peter Parker, priority code 1.”

Tony sighs. “Yeah, put him through.”

“Mr. Stark?” Peter says. “I don’t really know what’s going on, but - ”

“Kid, listen, it’s been a long day, can we just - ”

“ - but Cap just jumped out of the plane after you.”

Tony flips over in the air before he even knows what he’s doing. “He _what_?”

“Yeah, after you took off? He picked up his shield and went too.”

Tony locks his feet together and punches the hyperboost. It’s a little shaky with the nanobots still repairing his stabilizers, but it holds. “Friday, do you have a lock on him?”

“Affirmative, sir. Expected interception in eleven seconds.”

In the HUD, he sees Steve falling from the sky. They’re on a collision course, but it’ll be a close call; if Tony hadn’t answered Peter’s call, Steve would be about to hit the water. “Come on,” Tony says, willing the suit to go faster. “This is gonna hurt, you son of a bitch.”

“Uh, are you talking to me?” Peter says, and Tony hangs up on him; he’s about to do a _lot_ of yelling and Peter may not be a kid anymore but Tony doesn’t need to expose him to _that_.

“Contact in three, two,” Friday says, and just fifty or so feet above the surface of the Lower Bay, Tony slams into Steve.

It’s a hard catch but it holds, and Tony shoots toward the docks with one arm around Steve’s waist. Steve doesn’t fight him, just grips his wrist and hangs there, and as Tony lands on top of a warehouse near the water he wants to shake him, wants to hit him, wants to _kiss_ him.

So he settles for screaming at him. “What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?” 

Steve straightens his shirt and hangs his shield on his back calmly. “Kind of sucks when somebody you care about does something stupid, right?”

Tony gapes. “Did you seriously jump out of a plane without a parachute to teach me a _lesson_?”

“I jumped out of the plane so you wouldn’t just disappear,” Steve says. 

“And what if I hadn’t come back for you?”

“I knew you would,” Steve dismisses. “And anyway, I’ve hit the water from higher, I’d be fine.”

“You’re insane, you know that?”

“I’ve heard,” Steve says. “You know, when I went over to the tower today, I thought the worst thing that could happen was that you really were passed out drunk at Borgata.” He shakes his head, gives a brittle laugh. “But I was wrong. This is so much worse. Because if you don’t want to be with me, hey, that’s fine, I can take it. But this? This means you don’t trust me. This means that after all we’ve been through, we’re not even _friends_.”

“How can you possibly be surprised by any of this?” Tony says. “I’m selfish. I’m reckless. I do whatever the hell I want to do regardless of what it means for anybody else. I mean Christ, it’s not a secret, they say it on TV!”

“You don’t care what anybody says about you on TV.”

“No, you’re right, I don’t, but they don’t have to say it, because I know it. I ruined trillions of people’s lives, and then I did it _again_ because I decided making sure I could go home to my own kid was more important than anybody else.”

“We _all_ made the call,” Steve says. “We had no idea - anything could have happened, if we’d done it differently.”

“We had the stones, we could have done _anything_. And all these people who are mad at me about it, about that and everything else I’ve ever done - Beck, and Jameson, and all of them? I don’t blame them.”

“So what, you want to take it all on yourself? Maybe get yourself killed doing it, just for good measure?” 

“Are you serious?” Tony says. “God, I knew you were a hypocrite but this, this is a new one, you literally _flew a plane into the ocean_ trying to save the world.”

“That’s exactly my point!” Steve snaps. “I know what that feels like! I know what all of it feels like, and pretty much nobody else does. And I thought after everything, maybe we could deal with all of it _together_. I thought maybe we could - ”

“Well, we can’t,” Tony says. “Clearly.”

“So that’s it,” Steve says. “You’d rather blow it all up to try to take down some ex-employee with the extremely unique position of wanting to ruin your reputation. You’d rather jump out of a _plane_ than talk to me, you’d rather - ”

“How do you see this going, Cap?” Tony interrupts. “Me and you, I mean.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “What do you - ”

“Are you envisioning some big love story with a happily ever after at the end? Because I have this funny feeling that that’s not how this story goes. I’m not that kind of guy, and somehow I don’t think you are either. Or at least you haven’t been so far.”  


It must say something really sick about Tony that he’s almost _proud_ of the flash of hurt that passes across Steve’s face before he shuts it down. “Fuck you.” 

“There it is,” Tony says. “_That’s_ how this story ends. You and me hating each other all over again.”

“So you’d prefer we just skip straight to that part?” Steve says.

“Why not keep it clean and simple? Just let me know in advance if you plan to run off for two years again, I’ll make sure to get your suit dry cleaned for you.”

“Real nice, Tony.”

“Did you expect any better?” Tony says. “It’s not new information to you that I’m an asshole. Jeez, one magical night and it’s like you forget who I am.”

In the dim lights from the warehouse they’re standing on top of, Steve’s jaw works; he’s holding himself stock still in a way most people can’t. Tony knows him well enough to know that he only does that when he’s trying to hide something, trying to conceal what he’s feeling. It’s a move Tony’s familiar with, but he’s not used to seeing it used against him anymore.

“I guess I did forget,” Steve says finally, and he sounds _defeated_. “Or maybe I thought you wanted something different these days.”

“Well, I guess you thought wrong,” Tony says.

“If you say so,” Steve says, and without another glance back, he walks to the edge of the warehouse and jumps down, lands on his feet and walks toward the road. Tony watches him, but just for a minute, and then he flips the face plate down and shoots into the sky.

-

There’s a lot of confusion from the media about what went down in Atlantic City, but the one thing everyone can agree on is that Tony Stark screwed it up.

CNN plays the clip of him falling out of the sky on repeat. Fox News finds some Jersey local to claim she was the woman who Tony brought back to his room, and that he was blackout drunk when he went to fight the fire elemental, which “quite clearly put the public in even more danger”, as several commentators point out. J. Jonah Jameson has a field day with “exclusive” footage from the scene, which is completely doctored and surprises Tony not in the slightest. 

Pepper listens patiently when he explains it to her, and suggests, not unkindly, that she keep Morgan in Pennsylvania through the weekend so she’s not exposed to the media frenzy outside Stark Tower. Bruce makes him a smoothie and hangs around looking generally troubled. Fury sends him a text that reads, ominously, _We will be speaking soon_.

Tony ignores all of it. He reads Morgan bedtime stories via holo and repairs the Mark LIV and has his PR people decline every interview invitation and request for comment, even when they beg him to _please_ just go on Anderson Cooper and explain what happened. The problem, of course, is that while the story the press is telling is pretty bad, the real story isn’t that much better. The two versions share the most important essential truth, anyway, which is that there’s no rendition where Tony gets it right. 

“Don’t sweat it,” Tony says when Peter comes over one night and asks, hesitantly, how he’s doing. “I’ve been the media’s favorite on-again-off-again villain for thirty years, they’ll move on once the next news cycle hits.”

“Oh, I know,” Peter says. “I actually - I didn’t mean that. I mean if you weren’t okay about that, then we could talk about that, but actually I meant - what’s going on with you and Cap?”

Tony blinks at him. “Nothing’s going on.”

“You jumped out of a plane to get away from him, and then he jumped out after you,” Peter says, raising his eyebrows. “It wasn’t, like, the most casual thing ever.”

“Well, after fifteen years as coworkers things can get pretty heated around the water cooler. Don’t you have an essay due in twelve hours?”

Peter looks down at his laptop and sighs. “Am I ever going to get to grow up?” 

“Uh, presumably, yes, what with the mostly inexorable forward march of time - ”

“I mean with you,” Peter says. “Are you ever going to talk to me about things? Are you ever going to trust me?”

“Pete,” Tony says. “You know I trust you. I trust you with my life. Literally. All the time.”

“I know, but - with _other_ stuff. Look, I tell you - I tell you _everything_, like really everything - ”

“I know, I’m there.”

“ - and I just, are you ever going to let _me_ in?”

Tony puts down the soldering iron. “You taking a psych class or something?”

“It’s a general education requirement these days.”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you.”

“I wasn’t really planning on it.” 

Tony blows out a breath. “It’s a long story.”

Peter scoots forward on his stool. “I have time.”

Tony tries to set a good example, he _really_ does, and so he’s torn: is it setting a better example to blatantly lie, or to tell your twenty year old mentee about your utter failure to have anything approaching a normal human relationship? 

Aw, screw it. “Well. A couple months ago, you know how you asked, about Cap? And me? Well, you weren’t, uh. Totally wrong.”

Peter’s face lights up. “Wait, are you guys doing it? Was I _right_?”

Tony raises his eyebrows.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m listening, this is serious,” Peter says.

“Thank you,” Tony says. “So you asked about it, and it’s - it wasn’t at first, but it’s sort of a thing. Or it _was_ sort of a thing, for a while. Past tense.”

Peter winces. “And that fight in the Quinjet - ”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Man, your generation is just like, _all_ feelings.”

“Better than your generation’s 24/7 sublimation.”

“That’s psychobabble and I resent it,” Tony says. “Look, the short version is, I screwed it up pretty much immediately, no surprises there. It’s probably for the best.”

Peter frowns. “How could that be for the best?”

“Because until like a year ago I thought it was going to be me and Pepper forever, so I’m clearly pretty bad at working this stuff out, right? Better to get it over with and maybe go back to being slightly awkward friends.”

“I mean, relationships are hard,” Peter says. “Things don’t work out sometimes. The beautiful part is enjoying it while it lasts.”

“Please don’t be all wise and mature at me,” Tony says. “It’s scary and it makes me feel old and I hate it.”

“Do you want to be with him?” Peter asks.

“That’s… complicated.”

“It’s a yes or no question, it can’t be that complicated.”

“I didn’t raise you to question your elders,” Tony says grumpily.

“He cares about you,” Peter says. “And you care about him. That’s obvious even to me, and you literally tried to hide it from me.”

“Caring about someone isn’t always enough.”

“It’s enough to give it a try,” Peter says. “Caring about people is scary, but it’s okay if you’re scared sometimes, you know.”

“I’m not _scared_,” Tony says, affronted.

“Are you sure?” Peter asks.

Tony narrows his eyes. “Don’t you have homework to do? I feel like I remember some kid in here not 30 minutes ago whining about how much he has to turn in tomorrow...”

“All right, all right,” Peter says “I get the message.”

“Good, because it wasn’t supposed to be subtle. I was going for blunt and unmistakable.”

“You should talk to him,” Peter says. “Just - think about it, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever, oh wise one. You ever think about offering this as a paid service, maybe going for a Dr. Phil thing?”

“I think one complicated side hustle is probably enough,” Peter says, and goes back to his laptop.

-

It’s funny, Tony thinks, how quickly the world moves on. In the week since Beck, he’d gotten an earful from Rhodey over dinner, a mildly threatening voicemail from Fury, and absolutely nothing at all from Steve, not that he was expecting anything; a few days ago he was the most hated man in Manhattan, and now he can walk down the street with hardly an iPhone hastily snapping pictures in sight. 

It would solve a lot of Tony’s problems, he thinks, if _he_ could move on as quickly as everybody else.

“You driving, boss?” Happy asks, holding out the keys as Tony steps out of Balthazar.

“Nah, I think I’ll walk.”

“All the way to Midtown?”

Tony shrugs. “Good to get some fresh air.”

Happy, who hears stranger from Tony on a regular basis, just nods and gets in the Audi. Admittedly, the air in Manhattan isn’t particularly fresh, but after days spent holed up in the workshop with only Fox and Friends for company, it feels good to be outside. 

So of course, he’s only made it three blocks when it starts to rain.

“Damn it,” Tony murmurs, pulling out his phone to call Happy and looking around for a street sign to give him. Hopefully he hasn’t gone too far, Tony’s only made it to - 

Bleecker.

Tony hangs up the phone before Happy can pick up. Well, shit. Tony doesn’t believe in signs, but it’s hard to ignore an _actual_ sign staring right at you. 

It’s only two and a half blocks to Strange’s place, and Tony puts his head down and hoofs it, just a New Yorker trying to stay dry. When he gets to the big doors he hesitates, just for a second, and then he thinks _Fuck it_ and knocks.

The door opens slowly, and Strange peers out at him. “Tony,” he says, warily.

“Long time no see,” Tony says.

Strange raises an eyebrow. “Let me guess. You were just in the neighborhood?”

“Thought maybe I’d drop by and wait out the storm.”

“Surely you can fly in the rain.” Strange raises an eyebrow. “Or afford an Uber.”

“Yeah, but these Tom Fords aren’t as waterproof as the price tag would lead you to believe,” Tony says. “But hey, if you’re busy - ” 

The door swings open in answer. 

Tony wipes his feet on the mat at the front door. He hadn’t noticed much about Strange’s weird, dusty brownstone last time he’d visited, what with Bruce back and Thanos on the way and the world about to, you know, end. He’s about to comment on how weird it must be to live in the lobby of a haunted hotel from the 1920’s when he’s hit with what feels like a very strong but very localized tornado.

When he opens his eyes again, he’s dry. “Huh,” Tony says, peering at Strange’s cape. “Did it mess up my hair?” 

“I can’t tell how windswept you meant to look,” Strange says. “Tea?” 

“No thanks.”

“Great, so you’d rather just skip right to your question,” Strange says. 

Tony opens his mouth, then closes it. “How did you - ”

“Sorcerer Supreme, remember?” Strange says, arching an eyebrow. “Plus, it’s written all over your face. You’re not nearly as good at hiding things as you think you are.”

He gestures to a dusty armchair. Tony sits down and wonders, distantly, how long its been since it was reupholstered. 

“So,” Strange says, settling himself across from Tony. 

“It’s not really a question,” Tony says. “It’s more of a - it’s an idea, really. A thought. Question is probably a stretch, actually, it’s really more - ”

“Tony.”

“ - it’s really more that I think there’s somebody alive in the world who shouldn’t be, and I’m kinda worried it might be me,” Tony blurts out. 

Strange looks at him for a while. Just when Tony is about to give up and head for the door, he says, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some tea?”

“Why, are you trying to drug me?”

“Never even crossed my mind,” Strange says, deadpan. “But if you’d like an answer to your question… it may take a while. It’s complicated.”

“Well, I’m a genius, so why don’t you try me.”

Strange leans back in his seat and considers Tony. “When I told you on Titan that we only succeeded in one outcome,” he says, “it was because that was all I could see at that time.”

“Yeah, I got that.” 

“Timelines branch out from every decision point in the universe,” Strange says. “Every series of events, every possible path where Thanos triumphed, that was a branch I saw snuffed out. But once we won the one we did, it opened up a new set of branches. A whole tree’s worth, you might say. All of those were obscured to me at that moment, because they couldn’t exist without the first one. But once the one existed, the others opened up. They were free to happen, or not happen.”

“So,” Tony says, “what you’re telling me is that we weren’t… the first. To beat Thanos.”

“I’m afraid not,” Strange says with a patient smile. 

“We’re actually living in a branched timeline off the first one. The one you saw.”

“I believe so.”

“And in that one,” Tony says, “what went differently?”

Strange studies him. “I don’t think you’d enjoy knowing.”

It is, in the end, actually a relief to hear it said. Well, almost said. Tony releases a breath he’s been holding ever since Thanos faded to ash at his feet. He thinks distantly that when he came here, he’d wanted nothing more than for Strange to tell him he was supposed to be dead, but now that he knows it for sure, he desperately wants to _live_. 

“No,” he says slowly, “I don’t think I would.”

Strange nods, and takes a sip of the tea that’s just appeared in his hand. 

Tony clears his throat. “So what changed? I mean, why was another branch created? Did somebody - ” Tony frowns. “Did somebody go back in time and change something _else_?”

“That is the most likely scenario.”

“Don’t give me that, you know exactly what happened,” Tony says.

“And would it bring you comfort to know what it was?”

“It can’t make it any worse,” Tony says.

“Don’t be so sure.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “Come on, doc. I’ll just bug you until you tell me and you know it.”

Strange sighs. “You say you feel like there’s a man alive in the world who shouldn’t be. But should or shouldn’t - that’s beside the point. Because there’s another man, a different man, who decided that man _would_ be alive.”

Tony lets out a shaky breath. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I have no idea what you think I’m saying,” Strange says. “What matters is what you think _you’re_ saying.”

“God, you’re the fucking worst,” Tony says. “I don’t want any tea, by the way.”

“Good thing I wasn’t making you any,” Strange says. “Any other questions?”

“Nah, that’s enough existential dread for one day,” Tony says, standing up. “Thanks, Doc. Do you bill my insurance?”

Strange walks him back to the front door. When his hand is on the handle, he pauses. “Tony,” he says, “it doesn’t really mean anything, the fact that we’re not the first. First doesn’t mean anything. No universe is first; they all exist simultaneously, because and in spite of each other. And every choice, every single action opens up new branches full of new possibilities. Fate doesn’t tell us what to do. Sometimes things happen, sometimes they don’t. Today, you get to keep making choices.” Strange smiles at him, one of the few genuine ones Tony’s ever seen on the man’s face, and it’s gone just as fast as it appeared. “Try not to waste them?”

“I’ll do my best,” Tony says. “And, you know, my best is pretty great, so there’s probably nothing to worry about.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Strange closes the door behind him. 

Tony steps onto the sidewalk and texts Happy. He wants - well, he wants a lot of things, but right now what he wants is to get in his car and drive. He’s not sure where, yet, but things seem a little clearer than they did before - not wide open, not brand new, but a little brighter, at least. 

And hey, he thinks, whaddya know - the rain has stopped.

-

Tony makes it all the way to Brooklyn before he realizes he should have called ahead.

“Shit,” he says, standing outside the door to Steve’s building. 

A woman walking by gawks. Tony waves and turns back to the intercom. He has two choices: hit the keypad and hope for the best, or turn tail and run back home. And every moment he stands here increases the risk that Steve walks out of the building and catches him, or someone takes a picture of him and it ends up on Twitter, or - 

He slams the button for 502.

“Hello?” Steve says through the box.

“Hi, it’s me,” Tony says, and winces. “Tony. I probably should have called, but uh, it’s - are you free? To talk. It’s - important.”

There’s a pause, and then, “Come on up.”

He doesn’t sound _thrilled_, but he doesn’t sound pissed either, so Tony takes it for what it is. He climbs the stairs two at a time and doesn’t realize until he’s already knocked on Steve’s front door that he doesn’t know what he’s going to say.

The door swings open, and Barnes looms in the frame, looking unimpressed. “Stark.”

“Barnes,” Tony says. “You gonna pat me down for weapons?”

Barnes seems to consider it, but opens the door wider and lets him in. He crosses his arms over his chest, and Tony can tell he doesn’t want to move from where he stands now, between Tony and Steve. “Whatever you did, I sure hope you can fix it.”

“Buck,” Steve says.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” Barnes shoves his keys in his pocket, and with one last pointed glance at Tony, closes the door behind him.

“You know, I like him more and more every day,” Tony says brightly.

From behind the kitchen counter, Steve stares at him impassively. Tough crowd. “What’s going on?”

“I have to tell you something,” Tony says. “A couple things, actually. The first one is that I’m a jerk. I mean, you knew that, obviously, I just want to make sure you know I know.”

“I know that.”

“Cool,” Tony says. “The second one is, uh. Well, it’s a little more complicated. You know how, with universes, there’s more than one? Well, I found out that we aren’t the first universe to beat Thanos. We’re a branched one.”

“I know that too,” Steve says calmly.

Tony stares. “I’m sorry, _what_?”

Steve raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Was that it?”

“Uh, yeah, but that sort of takes the heat out of it,” Tony says. “How do you know?”

“Somebody told me.”

“Somebody told you,” Tony repeats flatly. “Who?”

“Let’s just say I trusted the source.”

Tony lets out a breath. “Got it. That, uh - okay. I think I understand what you’re saying. What did he tell you?”

“Not much,” Steve says. “Just that it went a different way once before, and he wished it hadn’t. So he changed it for us.”

“And he knew he was creating a branched universe.”

“Definitely,” Steve says. 

“And that’s it? He didn’t say anything else?”

“He said,” Steve says, and hesitates. “He said to watch out for you, actually.”

“Because he knew I’d fuck things up?” 

“Because he cared about you,” Steve says, and Tony flinches. “And he knew I cared about you too.”

“Do you know what he changed?”

“I have some ideas,” Steve says, “but I didn’t ask.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

Steve shrugs. “Lot of things bother me. I try not to waste too much time on the ones I can’t do anything about.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, because he’s an adult and he’s trying to be better about this kind of thing, he really is. “I should have talked to you, about the thing with Beck. And I shouldn’t have jumped out of the plane when you called me on it. That’s - there’s more to apologize for, I’ll think of it later, probably, but I really - I just want to say I’m sorry. And that’s it. That’s why I came, I wanted to make sure you knew about the universe thing, and about that. And now that I’ve covered it, you can go back to never talking to me again.”

“Thanks for the offer,” Steve says, “but I don’t think I’ll take you up on it.”

“You sure? It’s not every day that Tony Stark offers to shut up,” Tony says.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Steve asks. “I wouldn’t have stopped you from trying to draw Beck out. I would have gone with you. We all would have.” 

“A therapist once called it an irresistible draw to self-destructive tendencies,” Tony says. “I fired her immediately, obviously - I didn’t call you because that’s who I _am_, Steve. I try really hard to get things right, but we both know that at the end of the day I cause a lot of my own problems, this one included. I didn’t want you to see that side of things.”

“Do you really think there’s something that’s going to scare me away after everything? _Really_?”

“Maybe I just have more skin in the game than I used to, all right? The people I love - the people I care about usually end up paying a bigger price than they signed up for,” Tony says, soldiering on like if he talks fast enough they can both pretend they didn’t hear it. “People like Beck, they’re not going to stop.”

“So, what, you want to make their jobs easier? Isolate yourself, push everybody away, be just as miserable as they want you to be?”

“Well, when you put it that way, it admittedly sounds like a pretty bad strategy.”

“What Beck’s doing, what Jameson’s doing, we can’t fix it all,” Steve says. “We can only do our best. You know who told me that? You.”

“Yeah, but we both know I’m a hypocrite.”

Steve smiles at him wryly. “Can’t argue with that.”

“I didn’t mean the things I said,” Tony says. “When we were fighting, I didn’t - I mean I probably meant some of it at the time, but I was pissed and embarrassed and really afraid of what you were going to say, if I’m being honest, and none of that is an excuse at all, and you didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of that.”

“No, I didn’t,” Steve says. 

“It sucked,” Tony says. “And the shittiest part is that I can’t promise I won’t do it again. I want to but I - well, I try not to make promises I can’t keep.” 

“I probably could have handled it better too. You make me feel so - ”

“Angry?” Tony says. “Aggravated? More annoyed than you ever thought possible?”

“Exposed,” Steve says. “I didn’t realize how much it would scare me to think of you being out there fighting without me. I don’t need any promises from you, Tony, I don’t even need to you to say you won’t do anything stupid, I just - whatever it is, I’d like to be there next to to you. Even if that’s just as a friend.”

Tony nods. “That’s a fair request. And on the friend thing, of course, you’re totally right, you and me, that was always crazy, even for us. No hard feelings, give it a couple weeks and we’ll be right back to normal, probably driving each other up the wall just like we - ”

“I didn’t say that’s what I wanted,” Steve interrupts. “I said I’d take that if that’s all you want to give.”

__

It’s more than Tony deserves, but Tony’s _always_ wanted more than he deserves. “So, does that mean - ”

“I really didn’t think I was that hard to read,” Steve says with a wry half-smile. “I know what I’m getting into, Tony, and I think you do too. If we’re making a mistake, we’re making it with our eyes wide open.”

“This may be a first with us,” Tony says, “but I actually don’t think I can argue with that.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Come here?”

Tony goes, and when Steve opens his arms Tony melts into them, lips crashing together and hands tangling in hair and Tony doesn’t know when he started _needing_ this but just now he can’t imagine not.

“Not that I’m not super into this, but just for the record, I still think it’s probably a bad idea,” Tony says.

Steve laughs and presses his forehead to Tony’s. “Everything we do is a bad idea, Tony,” he says, but when Tony kisses him again he can tell he’s smiling.

-

“The best part about fighting is making up,” Tony says later.

Steve pulls the sheet up over both of them and settles in. “I’ll sleep with you without a fight first, you know.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Tony says, and kisses the top of his head, which is probably dumb but whatever, oxytocin.

"I just want to make sure you don’t get any ideas. I kind of like not fighting with you.”

“That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” Tony says.

Steve laughs and presses a kiss to the corner of Tony’s mouth. “Shut up.”

“And you just went and undid all of that work,” Tony says. “You know, if I didn’t know better - ”

Out in the living room, the front door opens, and Barnes’ keys clatter on the countertop. 

“So he knows?” Tony whispers.

Steve shrugs. “I think he figured it out by the way I was, you know - ”

“Moping?”

“Don’t get a big head about it, Stark,” Steve says.

“Oh for fuck’s _sake_,” Barnes growls. They hear several stomps, and then a door slamming shut.

Steve smirks. “Well, if he didn’t know before he does now. I think we left my shirt on the floor in the living room.”

“Is he traumatized? Will this traumatize him?” 

“He’ll just have to get used to it,” Steve says.

“Well, as much as I’d like to contribute to that in exactly the way I hope you’re envisioning - by which I mean loud sex, was that clear?”

“It was clear.”

“ - I should probably get going,” Tony says. “Morgan should be getting home in an hour.”

“We can sneak you out the fire escape if you don’t want to run into Bucky,” Steve says seriously. 

“You know I can fly, right?” Tony says, pulling on his boxers. 

“I think I read about it in the paper.”

“Who reads papers anymore?” 

“The old man you’re sleeping with.”

“Touche,” Tony says, and kisses him. It should be weird kissing Steve whenever he wants, or at least weird how _not_ weird it is, but instead it’s just not weird at all, period. “Okay, you have to stop with the hands and the mouth and all of it because I really do have to leave. What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing,” Steve says against his lips. 

“Come over,” Tony says. “Morgan would love to see you.”

“Just Morgan, huh?”

“And me, I guess,” Tony says. “In the morning? Or whenever - ”

“Sure,” Steve says. “Anytime.”

“It’s a date,” Tony says, and winks.

-

There’s a crowd of cameras outside the public entrance to the Stark Tower garage, and even though Tony could easily go in the back he thinks _What the hell_ and slows down at the main entrance. It’s already been a day, to say the least; what’s a little aggressive paparazzi action to round it out?

Tony rolls down his window to calls of, “Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark!” 

“Yeah, hi,” Tony says. “What’s up, can I help you guys out so you can get home to your kids? That’s what I’m trying to do, by the way, so let’s make it quick - ”

“Have you seen J. Jonah Jameson’s latest video?” one woman yells through the hubbub.

“Haven’t had time, been a busy day,” Tony says, and smirks when he thinks of Steve seeing the clip later.

“A collective of journalists, activists and politicians led by Mr. Jameson is calling for a Congressional investigation into all current and past Avengers activities,” another reporter says. “Do you have anything to say in response to Mr. Jameson, who claims that this investigation will turn up a number of illegal and unethical actions dating back over fifteen years?”

“Yeah, I have a quote for Mr. J. Jonah Jameson,” Tony says. He takes a deep breath. “He’s welcome to criticize all he wants, free speech and power of the press and all that, I hang out with Captain America, I know the first amendment. This investigation, whatever it is, that’s all just talk, and I know exactly what it will turn up and what the results will be. But here’s the thing. To Jameson and anybody else who wants to do more than just talk, who wants to put on a suit - a _real_ suit,” he says significantly, “and come make the tough calls - hell, you’re invited. And until you want to do that? You can - and you can quote me on this directly - fuck off, will you?”

The reporter’s eyes widen, and then everyone’s yelling again, but Tony just rolls up his window and drives into his subterranean garage with a huge, shit-eating grin on his face.

-

Later, when Morgan’s in bed and #FuckOffWillYou is trending on Twitter, Steve texts him, _You shouldn’t have said that._

Tony stares at it. It’s true, of course. It was pointless and antagonistic and probably won’t win him many points in the long run. He’s trying to come up with a response, because Steve’s _right,_ but - 

His phone dings again.

_I’m really glad you did_.

“Fuck, I love you,” Tony breathes. “Friday, you didn’t hear that.”

“Not a word, boss,” Friday says.

-

“Dad, are you awake?”

Tony blinks. “I am now.”

Morgan grins cheekily. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not,” Tony says, burrowing into the pillow. “You hungry?”

“I could eat if it was pancakes,” Morgan says.

“Pancakes it is,” Tony says. “Can Daddy have five more minutes? You can have Friday set an alarm.”

Morgan presses a smacking kiss to his cheek. “I’ll come back for you. And if you don’t get up I’ll jump on the bed!”

“Not allowed, young lady,” Tony says around a yawn. 

When he opens his eyes again, he’s pretty sure it’s been more than five minutes. He sits up with a frown. “Friday?”

“Morning, boss.”

“Everything okay?”

“All systems go.”

Great. Morgan probably dug up an old box of Thor’s Poptarts and will now demand them for breakfast regularly for the rest of her life. Tony yawns and pads into the hall, wondering exactly how he’s going to explain to Pepper how he got their kid hooked on - 

He pauses. Morgan’s sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, staring up at Saturday morning cartoons and distractedly chewing a mouthful of pancakes. 

And beside her, looking much more focused about his own pancakes, is Steve.

“Hey,” Tony says, finding himself completely unable to shut down the goofy smile spreading across his face.

It must be catching, because Steve grins right back. “Hi.”

“Cap made pancakes,” Morgan comments helpfully.

“I can see that,” Tony says. “Any left for me, or did you eat them all?”

Morgan shrugs, and Tony heads for the kitchen optimistically. “Morning,” Steve says, catching up with him at the stove and passing over a plate of still-warm pancakes. “You said I should stop by today, and I thought - sorry if it was too early, or - ”

“Hey, you bought me an extra hour of sleep,” Tony says. “Do you have plans today, or - ”

“Nope,” Steve says. “I was thinking maybe we could take Morgan to Coney Island. Buy her cotton candy, take her on all the rides, win a giant stuffed animal - I’m pretty good at those arcade games, you know.” 

“You spoil her,” Tony says. 

“Takes one to know one, I saw a kid-sized Maserati in the garage a few weeks ago.”

“I’m not the one who made her pancakes with - am I tasting chocolate chips in here? You really gave my child chocolate for breakfast?”

“She asked so nicely,” Steve says. Behind the counter, he reaches out and brushes Tony’s hand with his. “Hope you don’t mind that I took over pancake duty.”

“You know,” Tony says, lacing his fingers through Steve’s, “I think I could get used to it.”


End file.
